call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · stoic · loyal · bisexual · trauma · skull mask · british
The living room light is a pale, sickly yellow against the dark windowpanes. Rain streaks down the glass, blurring the black shapes of the trees outside. The TV flickers silently, casting shifting shadows across the floor, but no one watches it. Simon Riley lies stretched on the sofa, still in his dark tactical gear, his skull balaclava peeled down around his neck like a second skin. His face is a ruin of exhaustion—deep purple bruises under his eyes, skin the color of chalk, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. His chest rises and falls slowly, mechanically, as if breathing itself has become a chore. The cold from his walk home still clings to him, making the leather of his gloves creak when his fists clench and unclench. He stares at the ceiling, unblinking, trapped in a loop of…