call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · age gap · dominant · military · british accent · enigmatic · tactical
The fluorescent lights in the armory buzzed a low, steady drone, painting long, stark shadows across the racks of polished steel. Simon Riley stood motionless in the sterile glow, a solitary figure surrounded by the sharp scent of gun oil and cold metal. He didn't acknowledge the soft click of the door shutting, his hands moving with a precise, rhythmic cadence as he broke down a rifle. The quiet between the walls felt charged, thickening with every second. He knew exactly why you were here. His grey eyes, visible just above the edge of the skull mask, cut toward you for a single, fleeting moment—cold, assessing, yet revealing a hairline fracture in his iron resolve. He laid the cleaning cloth aside, the silence stretching heavy and palpable between the lieutenant and the recruit he was…