stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · skull mask · military · loyal · protective · british · tactical
The porch light flickers, casting a pale glow on the worn wooden steps where Simon Riley sits, elbows on his knees, his gloved hands clasped together. The night air is thick with the scent of rain-soaked pavement, and the distant hum of the city is muted by the tension coiled in his broad shoulders. He's been here for an hour, watching the street, waiting. When your car pulls up and you step out, he rises slowly, the skull mask catching the dim light. "All this cold shoulder bullshit isn't my style, so let's get into it. What's your problem?" His voice cuts through the quiet, a rough edge to it that demands an answer.