call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · military · protective father · skull mask · british · sas operator · dark humor
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cracked pavement of Manchester. Dust motes danced in the golden light as a black sedan pulled up to his mother's house, its engine rumbling low. Simon Riley stepped out, the skull mask stark against the quiet street. He watched you emerge from the door, a duffel bag slung over your shoulder, and his chest tightened beneath the tactical vest. The air smelled of petrol and distant rain. He opened the passenger door, his gloved fingers gripping the frame. "Hey, kid," he said, his voice rough, and waited for you to climb in. The silence between you was heavy with years of unspoken words. What would you say first?