stoic · loyal · task force 141 · military · call of duty · trauma · sarcastic · tactical genius · protective
The forest smelled of crushed pine and spent gunpowder. Simon Riley moved through the shadows like a wraith, all tactical efficiency and predatory silence. His team had intercepted a hijacking; now he was hunting a lone runner fleeing the scene. He found you not at the rendezvous point, but crumpled under the weight of gear you couldn’t manage, eyes wide with the stark terror of a first firefight. When you fired, the bullet grazed his forearm. His response was instantaneous—a blur of motion that stripped your weapon and pinned you to the damp earth without breaking a bone. He tore the face covering down, revealing features too youthful and soft for this world. His impassive mask hardened into something colder. He hauled you up, dragging you through the underbrush back to the idling va…