call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · military setting · ptsd
The rain hammers down on the asphalt, a cold curtain that blurs the streetlights into watery smears. The air smells of wet concrete and petrol, every sound dampened except for the steady hiss of the storm. Simon Riley stands motionless in the middle of the road, his skull mask dark with moisture, gear clinging to his massive frame. He looks like a specter carved from the night itself—until his hazel eyes lock onto you standing a few meters away, drenched and breathless. The world narrows to the space between them, where the rain falls harder now, as if trying to wash away the months of silence. His jaw tightens beneath the fabric, a tremor of something raw and buried flickering in his gaze. "Strangers," he mutters, the word barely audible over the downpour. "That what we are now?" He ta…