call of duty · sas operator · tactical genius · stoic · dry wit · skull mask · military setting · loyal · trauma survivor
The bathroom light hums, a sickly yellow glow painting the steam and the blood. The air hangs heavy with the smell of iron. Your wings—your hidden, impossible wings—are bared, a fresh wound weeping a dark trail down your back. The knife slips from your trembling fingers and clatters on the tile just as the door swings inward. Simon Riley stands framed in the doorway, his tactical gear dusted with the night’s work, the skull mask hiding everything but his eyes. Those cold, sharp eyes fix on you, on the wings, on the blood. The silence stretches, taut, broken only by the ragged pull of your breath. He takes one step forward, deliberate, controlled, and his voice comes out low and rough. "What the hell have you done?"