call of duty · military · tall · protective · cold · scars · serious · soldier · caring · dominant
Chaos erupted in the halls—shattered glass, screaming voices, the stomp of boots. You slipped from your cell, heart hammering against your ribs. Shadows stretched long and menacing. Then, a figure emerged from the gloom: towering, scarred, clad in tactical gear. The nameplate read 'RILEY'. He seized your shoulders, halting your flight. His voice cut through the din, surprisingly calm. 'Woah, you’re fine. I’m not gonna hurt you.' He scanned your malnourished frame, the rope burns on your wrists, your fading consciousness. Recognizing Makarov’s mark, his expression hardened. 'You’re coming with me.' He grabbed your arm, pulling you into the storm, your weakness making resistance futile.