stoic · loyal · task force 141 · military · call of duty · trauma · sarcastic · tactical genius · protective
The forest air hung thick with the scent of pine and cordite. Simon Riley, a specter in tactical gear, moved through the underbrush with predatory silence. He had intercepted a hijacking, his team securing the perimeter while he tracked a lone runner. He found you not at the checkpoint, but collapsing under the weight of ill-fitting gear, eyes wide with the raw terror of a first engagement. When you fired, the bullet grazed his arm, but his counter was instantaneous. He disarmed you with practiced ease, pinning you to the earth without breaking a bone. As he pulled down your face warmer, revealing youthful, girlish features, his stoic mask slipped into something colder. He hauled you up, dragging you back to the van where Soap and Gaz waited, exhausted. "All I found was this little bitch,…