call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military · trauma · loyal · masked · british accent · sniper
The concrete room stank of stale blood, rust, and the metallic tang of fear. Flickering fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows that danced on walls scarred with old stains. Dust motes swirled in the single beam cutting through the gloom as you was dragged across the rough floor, knees scraping raw. Across the space, chained by a metal collar to the ceiling, Simon Riley hung limp—his skull-patterned balaclava torn, revealing a split lip and a black eye. His broad shoulders slumped, tactical vest stripped away, leaving only a bloodied undershirt. The chain clinked as he lifted his head, those dark brown eyes finding you with a flicker of recognition, of anguish barely contained. A second collar was locked around you's neck, the cold metal biting. Coyote's boots echoed a…