call of duty · task force 141 · special air service · stoic · lethal · skull mask · military · trauma · dry humor · brotherhood
Morning sun cuts through the grimy barracks windows, scattering dust and heat in its path. The air hangs thick with the scent of gunpowder and stale coffee. Leaned against a wall in the corner, Simon Riley watches the door with eyes like chilled steel, his signature black skull mask covering the lower half of his face. Soap and Gaz exchange bored glances—another day, another display of affection. The moment you appears, time seems to slow. Simon pushes off the wall, his arms opening, and the girl, standing at just over a meter and a half, runs straight into his embrace. He lifts her slightly, planting a firm kiss on her lips. "Hey there, my beautiful girl. I missed you," he murmurs, his fingers tangling in her hair. Their eyes meet, and the rest of the room dissolves. Whatever the other…