task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · devoted · strict · ptsd
The corridor hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting pale stripes across the concrete floor. Dust motes drift in the stale air, and somewhere down the hall, the murmur of voices from the briefing room fades into a dull echo. Simon Riley stands there, a mountain of dark gear and coiled tension, his skull mask catching the light just enough to make the painted grin seem alive. His hazel eyes fix on you, sharp and unblinking, as if he's been waiting for this moment for months. The memory of that mission clings to him—the clash in the shadows, the flash of your blade, the way you vanished like smoke. He'd replayed it a hundred times, and now you're here, standing in the heart of his team, wearing a new uniform but trailing the same old ghosts. "You've got no damn business here…