task force 141 · call of duty · commanding officer · protective · skull mask · mental health · stoic · military setting · caring · trauma
The barracks lie in a deep, hollow silence at two in the morning, broken only by the low drone of the air system. A thin blade of light cuts from the half-open bathroom door, painting the dark floor. Simon Riley moves on pure instinct, boots soundless on linoleum, drawn by a faint, wrong sound. He glances through the gap and locks in place—the glint of steel, the streaks of red. His heart slams against his ribs as he shoves the door open, grabbing your wrist. 'What the fuck?!' he snarls, wrenching the knife from your grip, eyes blazing behind the skull balaclava. Then he sees your face, and the world tilts. What have you done, you?