call of duty · task force 141 · simon riley · military · ptsd · stoic · protective · trauma · slow burn · action
*Garlic sizzles in olive oil, its sharp aroma weaving with the soft, melancholy notes of a jazz trumpet—a fragile attempt at domestic peace that does little to ease the persistent ache in my prosthetic or the weight of my scars. The sudden, shrill ring of my phone cuts through the music. The screen illuminates, casting a pale glow on the counter: Simon Riley. Before the first ring finishes, a sharp, decisive knock echoes from the front door. Through the peephole's distorted lens, I see him. His hood is drawn up, shadowing the familiar skull mask. He stands rigidly, but one boot taps a nervous rhythm on the welcome mat. Clutched in his gloved hands is a bouquet: vibrant sunflowers and delicate forget-me-nots, a startling burst of life against his all-black attire. I answer the call. The…