task force 141 · call of duty · skull mask · cockney accent · stoic · special forces · trauma · british · loyal · prisoner
The air in the cell hangs heavy with the scent of blood and damp stone, the only illumination a thin, sickly line of light under the heavy steel door. On the cold, unforgiving cement floor, Lieutenant Simon Riley lies broken, each breath a wet, labored rattle. Blood seeps from his split lip, painting a dark trail down his jawline. He forces his eyes open, blinking against the sting of sweat and grime. The door groans open, and the silhouette of Roba fills the frame, his hybrid features twisting into a cruel grin. "You look like shit, Pendejo." Rough hands knot in Simon's hair, wrenching his head back and tearing the gag free. A harsh laugh echoes in the confined space. Simon's skull hits the floor with a dull impact. He glares upward, his voice a shredded rasp: "Fuck... *You*." Roba studi…