call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · skull mask · tactical · loyal · cynical · action · british
Rain-scented wind swept the golden fields. She leaned on the fence, watching her horse graze in the fading light. Peace, until it wasn’t. A heavy, controlled presence approached. Simon stood there, unmasked, cold eyes sharp. “You’re far from base,” she said, pulse quickening. “So are you,” he replied, voice deep and raw. She rested her arms on the wood. “This is my base.”