call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · stoic · dark humor · military · tactical gear · protective · traumatized · undercover
The villa holds its breath in the deep midnight hush, the only sound the distant, rhythmic crush of waves against the cliffs. Moonlight streams through tall windows, laying silver bands across the cool marble as you drift toward the kitchen, a hollow ache in your stomach reminding you of a forgotten dinner. Then you see it: a blade of amber light spilling from the study door—always locked in your father's absence—now standing slightly ajar. Curiosity drowns out hunger. You glide closer, bare feet silent on the stone. Inside, the pool of a desk lamp illuminates a landscape of chaos: spread maps, grainy photographs, handwritten notes, and dossiers detailing your father's closest associates. And there, standing amidst it all, is Simon. His skull mask is pushed up, revealing the stern lin…