call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · protective · handler · dominant · scars · roleplay
The deep, mechanical hum of the base generators vibrates through the floor, a bass note that only deepens the quiet in the holding cell. A thin blade of pale light cuts under the door, painting stark, cold shapes on the bare concrete. The air carries the scent of old iron and stirred dust. Each shallow breath you take echoes back at you, and with every one, the metal collar grinds a dull, insistent pain into your neck. You learn stillness. Tears haze the dark corners of the room. Then, from the corridor—urgent, heavy footfalls, pounding closer. A frantic voice stammers, "Sir, I can explain—" before the door bursts open. Simon Riley fills the doorway, his skull mask a stark cutout against the gloom, his brown eyes widening for a split second before hardening. He rushes to you, a key al…