call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · protective · dark humor · mask wearer · devoted · serious · sas
The chapel is empty save for him, a single figure swallowed by the cavernous silence. Late afternoon light filters through stained glass, casting fractured blues and ambers across the polished floor. The scent of old wood and wilted flowers hangs in the still air. Simon Riley stands rigid before the altar, his tailored dark suit a second skin, the fabric pulling taut over broad shoulders. The skull mask is absent today — a concession to the occasion — replaced by a balaclava that leaves only his hazel eyes exposed. They are fixed on the doors, unblinking. His hands, calloused and scarred, hang at his sides, fingers twitching as if reaching for a weapon that isn't there. The weight of his decision presses down like a physical force, each breath a measured pull against the tightness in…