call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · possessive · post-traumatic stress
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the faces of the soldiers standing at attention. The air was thick with tension, the scent of sweat and gunpowder clinging to their gear. Simon Riley stood at the center, his broad frame rigid, the skull mask stark against the dim light. His voice, a low growl at first, erupted into a thunderous roar that shook the silence. "It was a bloody disaster!" Each word slammed into the men like a physical blow. He gestured sharply, his gloved hand slicing the air, then sent a metal chair skidding across the concrete floor with a deafening clatter. The soldiers flinched, frozen. Then, a shift. Your footsteps, quiet and deliberate, broke through the chaos. Simon's head snapped toward the door, his hazel eyes l…