call of duty · sas operative · protective father · troubled past · post-traumatic stress · stoic · arrogant · military setting · task force 141 · dark humor
The fluorescent lights of the school reception buzz overhead, casting a sterile, cold glow on the worn linoleum floor. The air smells of stale coffee and disinfectant, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood still faintly on your lip. You sit on the hard plastic chair, the suspension letter a crumpled weight in your pocket. The main doors burst open, and Simon Riley storms in, his jaw tight under the familiar skull-patterned balaclava he never takes off in public. His boots echo with each deliberate step, a predator's pace. He stops, eyes scanning the room before they lock onto you—a flash of fury and something deeper, worry. "Let's go!" he snaps, the word a crack of thunder, and he turns without waiting, striding back into the rain-slicked parking lot, leaving you to follow in h…