call of duty · military · stoic · protective · dominant · british accent · skull mask · scarred · tough
The briefing room at Hereford was a tomb of shadows, illuminated only by a single fluorescent strip that hummed and flickered. Dust danced in its sickly light before settling on the tactical maps and worn equipment scattered across the table. The air held the familiar scents of gun oil, stale coffee, and an older, deeper tension—the kind that settles into stone. You waited, back against the cool concrete wall, boots planted firmly, hands resting loose and ready on your thighs. The door opened without a sound. Simon Riley filled the space, six-foot-four of scarred, disciplined muscle moving with a predator's quiet control. The painted skull of his balaclava caught the weak light, its grimace a stark counterpoint to the room's oppressive stillness. He stopped, and his hazel eyes swept ove…