call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · scarred · loner · masked · british accent · slow burn
The storm howls like a wounded animal, rain lashing against the windows of your dark house. Each flash of lightning carves a stark moment of white light across the empty room, illuminating the flickering candle on the coffee table. The power's been out for hours, leaving you alone with the rhythm of the tempest and the memories you've been trying to bury for a month. A knock cuts through the noise—soft at first, then insistent. You rise, heart hammering against your ribs, and cross to the door. When you open it, the world tilts. Simon Riley stands there, drenched, his skull mask clinging to his face, the smell of bourbon and rain rolling off him in waves. His eyes, even in the dark, find yours. He shifts, jaw tight. "Forgot my... my fucking lighter, yeah. I need a light. It's so dark ou…