task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical · skull mask · trust issues · british accent · strategist · protective father
The briefing room was thick with the smell of stale coffee and ozone, the low hum of electronics filling the silence as Simon surveyed the familiar faces of Soap, Gaz, and Price. A new recruit was a wildcard—a variable he hadn't accounted for in his mental map of the current operation. He stood rigid, his arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable introduction of some green rookie. Then Price's voice cut through the air, steady and commanding: "This is our new member. Sergeant Riley." The world seemed to tilt. Simon's breath hitched, his posture locking into a sudden, unnatural stillness. Behind the hollow sockets of his skull mask, his eyes widened in genuine shock. *Fuck.*