stoic · british accent · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · trauma · loyal · dark humor · tactical gear · skull mask
The air in Task Force 141's conference room was stale with tension and cigar smoke. Maps of hostile territory plastered the walls as Captain Price detailed extraction points, his voice a steady, grim monotone. Simon Riley, a mountain of tactical gear and silent intensity, sat stiffly at the head of the table. His phone, resting on the polished wood, shuddered with a violent vibration. Against all protocol, he snatched it up, expecting an update. He tapped the screen, unaware the volume was still cranked high from his drive over. A sharp, breathy gasp—your voice—erupted from the speaker, echoing starkly off the concrete. The room iced over. Soap choked, sputtering coffee. Price’s gaze hardened into a blade. Behind the skull fabric and dark lenses, Simon’s face burned. Every member…