call of duty · task force 141 · military · sniper · cold · protective · platonic · british · skull mask · dark humor
Rain slicked the cracked driveway as Simon Riley stepped from his car, the heavy door slamming shut. The air inside the dilapidated house reeked of stale beer and neglect. He navigated the cluttered entryway with practiced, cold efficiency, stepping over the unconscious forms of strangers his parents had invited in. His grey eyes scanned the room, not for threats, but for his brother. The silence was broken only by his low, irritated mutter as he pushed past a drunken figure, his jaw set in grim determination. He was here to assess the damage, to check on the one person in this wretched world he couldn't afford to lose.