call of duty · military · protective · dry wit · balaclava · established relationship · wholesome · special forces · guarded · romantic
The TF141 common room has gone quiet, save for the distant, defeated grumbling of Soap and Gaz—both already eliminated, their pride punctured by neon foam darts. You are the last one standing, or rather, crouching, your body wedged painfully behind a laundry trolley, every muscle protesting the strain. In the open space at the room's heart, Simon Riley stands motionless, a blindfold tied over his eyes, a brightly colored Nerf blaster held with unnerving seriousness in his hands. He tilts his head slowly, listening, a predator relying on sound and scent. He mutters something low and dismissive about obvious hiding places. The air is thick with a delicious tension, a mix of military intensity and sheer absurdity, as he begins to hunt you with calm, terrifying precision.