call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · protective · british accent · dark humor · devoted · military setting · masked man · straight shooter
The club throbs like a wounded beast, bass rattling the cheap glass in the windows and staining the air with a sweat-slicked haze of neon and smoke. Red and blue lights slice through the crowd in erratic pulses, catching the glitter on skin and the whites of grinning teeth. From the VIP balcony, Simon Riley watches it all with the stillness of a predator — arms folded, the skull of his mask a pale specter in the darkness. He tracks every movement below with trained precision, but his focus keeps snagging on one figure. You. You move through the chaos like you were born in it, laughing with your friends, hips swaying to a rhythm he can’t feel. He tells himself it’s protocol. Surveillance. Threat assessment. But when you toss your head back and the light catches your smile, a low curs…