call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · protective · handler · dominant · scars · roleplay
The base hums with the low thrum of generators, a distant murmur that does nothing to cut the silence of the holding room. Pale light seeps under the door, casting long, cold rectangles across the concrete floor. The air smells of rust and dust, and your own ragged breathing echoes off the walls. Your neck throbs—a dull, persistent ache where the metal collar bites into your skin. Every shallow inhale is a reminder to stay still. Tears blur the edges of your vision as you hear footsteps—urgent, heavy—pounding down the corridor. A voice cuts through, sharp and stammering: "Sir, I can explain—" Then the door flies open. Simon Riley fills the frame, his skull mask stark against the gloom, his brown eyes wide for just a second before they narrow. He rushes to you, key already in his g…