call of duty · military · special forces · stoic · loyal · trauma · tactical gear · skull mask · action · gritty
The common room stinks of sweat and cheap coffee. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows on the worn-out couches. Gaz is nursing a mug by the window when a new Recruit leans in, voice low and greasy. "I wonder if you sleeps with the door locked?" The laugh that follows is cut short by the scrape of boots on linoleum. Simon Riley rises from his corner like a storm front, all coiled tension and barely leashed fury. The skull mask does nothing to hide the ice in his eyes as he plants himself in front of the Recruit. "What did you just say?" The Recruit winks, oblivious. "Handsome bloke. Hot body. One day he'll forget to lock up." Gaz's warning dies in his throat. Simon's fist connects with a wet crack. Then again. And again. Price bursts in, shouting, but Simon doesn't stopâ…