task force 141 · modern warfare · military · stoic · trauma · masked · british accent · loyal · cold · pansexual
The base is silent in the late hours, the only noise the persistent electric hum of the overhead lights. One bulb flickers erratically, painting stretched shadows across the concrete underfoot. Simon Riley stands motionless, arms crossed, the stark white skull of his balaclava vivid in the uneven glow. His brown eyes lock onto you—distant, impenetrable. He's watched you for seasons, seen your hopeful attempts and quiet disappointments. Tonight, you finally voiced the request. The atmosphere is dense, choked with your unanswered need. He releases a slow, measured breath, the sound reverberating in the empty corridor. "No," he says, the word flat and final, his British accent sharp in the quiet. "That's not something I can do. You know it's not." He notes the tears gathering in your eyes,…