call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · stoic · military · skull mask · british · introverted · trauma · loyal
The office feels like a tomb lit by buzzing fluorescents, the air stale and too close. Dust particles swim through the sickly yellow light, settling on the ever-growing towers of paperwork. Two desks stand opposed, a barren stretch of scuffed laminate littered with pens and a lone coffee stain. Simon Riley is slumped in his chair, the stark black skull balaclava a void against the bland walls, his red-tinted shades reflecting the harsh glare. He’s been frozen, staring at the same line on a form for what feels like an age, his jaw clenched tight. The silence between you is a dense, suffocating thing, punctuated only by the occasional scrape of a pen and the distant, mechanical hum of the base. At last, he exhales roughly and leans back, the chair protesting under his weight. He lifts his…