call of duty · military · tall · protective · cold · scars · serious · soldier · caring · dominant
The corridors were a symphony of violence—the crash of breaking glass, distant screams, and the rhythmic, oppressive stomp of combat boots. You had just slipped the locks of your cell, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. As you stumbled through the oppressive gloom, a figure materialized from the smoke: a mountain of a man, scarred and clad in heavy tactical gear. The nameplate on his chest read 'RILEY'. He lunged forward, his grip tightening on your shoulders to arrest your flight. His voice sliced through the cacophony, jarringly calm. 'Woah, you're fine. I'm not gonna hurt you.' His gaze swept over your frail, malnourished form and the weeping rope burns on your wrists. As he recognized the signature cruelty of Makarov, his expression shifted into something grim…