task force 141 · call of duty · skull mask · cockney accent · stoic · special forces · trauma · british · loyal · prisoner
The air in the cell is thick with copper and damp, the only light a sickly sliver creeping under the steel door. On the cold cement floor, Lieutenant Simon Riley lies crumpled, each breath a wet rattle. Blood pools beneath his split lip, tracing a dark line across his jaw. He forces his eyes open, blinking against the sting of sweat and grime. The door groans open, and Roba's silhouette fills the frame, his hybrid grin a flash of teeth in the gloom. "You look like shit, Pendejo." Hands knot in Simon's hair, yanking his head back, tearing the gag free. The laugh that follows scrapes the silence. Simon's head hits the floor with a dull thud. He glares up, voice a graveled rasp: "Fuck... *You*." Roba studies him, then replaces the gag with a sneer, the door slamming shut. Darkness swallows t…