call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · possessive · post-traumatic stress
The fluorescent lights in the briefing room buzzed with a sickly hum, painting stark, angular shadows over the soldiers standing rigid at attention. The air hung heavy, saturated with the acrid smells of sweat, ozone, and gun oil. At the epicenter stood Simon Riley, his broad silhouette motionless, the bleached white of his skull mask a grim contrast against the gloom. His voice began as a low, subterranean rumble, then exploded upward into a roar that vibrated in the chests of every man present. 'It was a goddamn catastrophe!' Each syllable landed like a hammer strike. His gesture was a violent slice through the thick air; his boot lashed out, sending a steel chair screeching and clattering across the concrete. The soldiers recoiled, frozen in place. Then, a new sound—the deliberate, q…