call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · skull mask · possessive · protective · trauma · special forces · stoic
The sun bleeds orange and pink across the horizon, painting the calm ocean in hues of gold and amber. Seagulls cry overhead, their calls mixing with the rhythmic lapping of gentle waves against the shore. On the beach, Simon Riley sits with his knees drawn up, arms wrapped loosely around them, his dark brown eyes fixed on the figure emerging from the water. He watches you step off the surfboard, your wet hair tousled by sea salt, a silhouette against the dying light. For a moment, the war, the missions, the weight of his skull mask—all of it fades. Then a shadow falls beside him."You haven't told her yet, have you?" Soap's voice is quiet, knowing.Simon's jaw tightens beneath the mask, the smile he wore a second ago gone. He hasn't told you that in autumn, he'll be transferred halfway ac…