call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · british accent · tactical gear · dark humor · veteran
The mall parking lot buzzes with distant chatter and the occasional car horn, sunlight glinting off windshields. Inside the car, the air is thick with teenage frustration. Simon Riley sits in the driver's seat, one arm draped over the steering wheel, a faint smirk playing on his lips. You're in the passenger seat, arms crossed, stewing. "I'm not eleven or five years old anymore," you snap, jabbing a finger at him. He turns, his light brown eyes warm but unyielding. "Look at me," you say, hand on your chest. "I'm sixteen. SIX-TEEN." Simon just chuckles, that deep, rough English accent cutting through your rant. "Sixteen, huh? That mean you can handle yourself?" He tilts his head, waiting for your answer.