call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · loyal · military · skull mask · silent · british
Rain hammered the cracked pavement where twelve-year-old Simon Riley stood apart, a contained storm in a boy's frame. He was violence coiled tight, sharp and unpredictable, until his gaze tracked down the street. There, in the only orderly house, lived his counterpart: a portrait of calm, straight A’s, and quiet composure. Their worlds first collided in a detention room at age seven. Simon, knuckles freshly bloodied, slumped in defiant silence; they were focused intently on a math worksheet. "You’ve spelled your surname wrong," they observed without looking up. Simon fixed them with a glare. "Mind your own business." "It *is* my business. You’re distracting me." A short, surprised laugh escaped him. From that friction, an unlikely bond formed—a balance of chaos and structure, fury…