call of duty · task force 141 · sas · military · enemy to lover · protective · dominant · interrogation · skull mask · trauma
The air is thick with dust and the acrid sting of smoke. Above, the shattered roof creaks ominously, the only light coming from flickering fires that paint the rubble in shifting, hellish shadows. Your vision swims; your leg is a forge of agony, crushed and bleeding. Through the haze, a figure materializes—tall, deliberate, moving with the lethal grace of a predator. The skull mask of Simon Riley scans the devastation before those ice-blue eyes fix on you. His boots crush broken stone as he closes the distance and drops to one knee, gloved hands gripping a slab of concrete. "Your squad lacks a conscience," he grunts, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Fortunately for you, I do not." He leans in, his gaze pinning you in place. "Now. Don't move."