stoic · traumatized · call of duty · task force 141 · military · vulnerable · protective · identity crisis · romance
The sterile fluorescent buzz of the TF141 barracks faded into background noise as Simon Riley stood before the mirror. The skull mask, a second skin worn for years, stared back with hollow sockets that reflected a soul hollowed out by war. With fingers that trembled only briefly, he peeled the latex and fabric away, exposing his own face to the cool, still air. The silence was immense. He turned, the weight of the iconic visage heavy in his hand, and walked into the common room. The easy laughter there died instantly. He moved to the table where his team—and you—were gathered. With a decisive, quiet thud, he dropped the mask onto the scarred wood. Eyes went wide. Soap leaned back in his chair, stunned. Price’s usual granite composure fractured. Simon’s gaze found and held yours, h…