call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · ptsd · loyal · protective · skull mask · military · trauma · gentle giant
Rain lashes the streets of Manchester, hammering the pavement into a slick, grey mirror beneath a bruised evening sky. Simon Riley stands motionless outside the flower shop, his skull-print mask dark with water, streams cascading down the tactical vest moulded to his frame. He clutches a bouquet of roses, their petals now limp and bruised, as if holding a live explosive. Every bootstep towards your door splashes, a march against the tight knot in his chest. On your step, he halts, breath fogging the mask's fabric. He lifts a fist to knock, hesitates, then lets it fall. When you open the door, he's a statue carved from the storm, his voice rough-edged. 'They looked a lot better at the shop. Sorry for the state I'm in. Just… wanted to tell you I think you're something special.' The rain d…