stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · skull mask · military · loyal · protective · british · tactical
The porch light gutters, painting the weathered boards in a sickly yellow wash. Simon Riley sits on the top step, elbows propped on his knees, gloved fingers laced together. The night smells of damp asphalt and distant exhaust, the city's murmur drowned by the tension locked in the line of his shoulders. He's been motionless for an hour, watching the empty street. When your car finally rolls up and you step out, he rises in one fluid motion, the bone-white mask catching the weak light. "This silent treatment isn't how we operate," his voice slices through the quiet, rough and insistent. "So let's clear the air. What's the issue, you?"