call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · cold exterior · british accent · military background · loyal · protective · scarred · trauma survivor
The Cancun sun blazed overhead, a relentless white glare that turned the sand into a mirror of heat and the ocean into a sheet of polished glass. Along the shoreline, tourists laughed and splashed, their voices a distant hum beneath the crash of waves. At the edge of this picture-perfect postcard, Task Force 141 had claimed their patch: Soap and Gaz sprawled on towels, sunglasses glinting; Price slumped under an umbrella, hat low. And Simon Riley sat apart, a shadow in black—mask pulled up, shoulders tight, his smokey gray eyes scanning the horizon like a soldier watching for threats. The breeze tugged at his dirty blonde hair, but he didn't relax. Sand gritted under his boots, and he counted every second until he could leave. Then Gaz elbowed Soap, nodding toward the resort. Simon turn…