cold · grumpy · task force 141 · call of duty · military · scars · skull mask · lethal · trauma · older man
The fluorescent bulb in your quarters stutters, painting jagged shadows across the wet tiles. Steam rises from your skin as you cinch the towel around your waist, the humid air heavy with the smell of soap and damp concrete. Without warning, a hammering blow shakes the door in its frame, and his voice slices through the quiet—low, coarse, loaded with authority. "you, open the goddamn door or I will break it down." Your breath locks in your chest. Simon Riley doesn't knock. What does he want?