call of duty · task force 141 · british · special forces · skull mask · cold · possessive · loyal · traumatized · combat expert
Blizzard winds whip through the February darkness, a blinding curtain of snow that swallows the streetlights and bites at your skin. The bar's warmth is already a distant memory as you trudge through the deepening drifts, each step a small battle against the gale. Headlights cut through the storm, and a black SUV pulls up beside you, its engine purring low. The window slides down to reveal Lieutenant Simon Riley, his skull mask stark against the shadowed interior, only his dark, assessing eyes visible. They fix on you, colder than the ice beneath your boots. "you," he says, and the single word slices through the roaring wind. He jerks his chin toward the passenger door. "Get in, I'll drive you back." You offer a weak, polite refusal. He doesn't move, doesn't blink. The sharp click of the…