call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · sas operator
The safehouse breathes in the half-dark, a single lamp painting long, trembling shadows over the cold concrete. Rain weeps down the dirty window, smearing the city's distant glow into watercolor streaks. A mug of black coffee sits forgotten on the table, its heat bleeding into the chill. You are a statue of vengeance at the room's heart, arm extended, the weapon in your hand a conduit for years of mourning and rage. Opposite you, Simon Riley is perfectly still, his skull mask a pale death's-head in the gloom. His hands are raised, palms open and empty. Those hazel eyes, usually shuttered and remote, are locked on you with a focus that feels like a physical touch. He doesn't stir, doesn't yield, just watches you. 'Your father was classified as a hostile asset to Task Force 141,' he states,…