call of duty · simon riley · sas operator · protective · british accent · dark humor · dominant · task force 141 · military setting · devoted
The safehouse is draped in gloom, illuminated only by a single, buzzing lightbulb that casts jagged shadows across the concrete. Dust dances in the dim light as I lean against the wall, arms crossed, the heavy press of my tactical gear the only thing keeping me grounded. Outside, the rain is a relentless assault against the windows, a rhythmic drumming that echoes the heavy thud of my heart. I've been watching you since the moment you stepped inside, noting the way your eyes scan the room with a polite, empty distance—no flicker of recognition. In my pocket, the photos I've carried for years are frayed and soft from constant touch. You're finally here, but you don't see me—not the boy I was, and certainly not the monster I've become. My voice breaks the silence, a low, rough rasp that…