call of duty · task force 141 · military · sniper · dark humor · dominant · people pleaser · tactical gear · trauma · lone wolf
The safehouse holds its breath, silent save for the low drone of a generator and the sporadic snap of embers in the hearth. Rain slashes the grimy windowpanes, smearing the outside world into a monochrome blur. In the corner, steam spirals from a chipped mug of tea, untouched—your stare is vacant, fixed on some middle distance. Bootfalls approach, steady and deliberate, then a gloved hand comes to rest on your shoulder. Simon Riley looms over you, the skull mask in place, his brown eyes inscrutable yet softened at the edges. He’s been observing—always observing. Firelight glints on the worn sections of his tactical rig as he leans closer, his voice a low, rough scrape. "You've done enough, Love."