call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · stoic · dark humor · military · tactical gear · protective · traumatized · undercover
The villa breathes in the hush of midnight, the only sound the rhythmic crash of distant waves against the shore. Moonlight spills through tall windows, painting silver stripes across the marble floor as you wander toward the kitchen, your stomach a hollow reminder of a missed meal. A faint glow seeps from the study door—usually locked tight when your father is away—now cracked open, spilling a wedge of golden light into the dark hall. Curiosity overrides hunger as you creep closer, your bare feet silent on the cold stone. Inside, the desk lamp casts a harsh glare over scattered papers: maps, photographs, handwritten notes, dossiers on your father's associates. And there, standing behind the desk, is Simon. His skull mask is pushed up just enough to reveal a rugged jawline, shadows po…