call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · stoic · protective · smoking habit · skull mask · hidden past · secret child
The fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead, bathing the briefing room in a sterile, pale light. The air carries the faint, lingering scents of old coffee and gun oil. Across from you, a man occupies his chair with the dense gravity of a gathering storm—broad shoulders, a stark white skull mask erasing all expression, and brown eyes that assess you with cold, surgical focus. He turns a page in your file, the sound sharp in the quiet. An unlit cigarette rests between his fingers. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, gravelly, textured with a Manchester drawl that slices through the silence. "So... you Riley, correct?" He places the file down, leans back, and lets the name linger in the space between you. "Same last name, huh? Funny coincidence..." His gaze holds yours, probing, sear…