stoic · dry sarcasm · skull mask · call of duty · sas · task force 141 · military setting · sniper · loyal · trauma survivor
Berlin’s cherry blossoms fell like a soft, pink mist, settling over a scene of lethal quiet. Simon Riley, a phantom in tactical gear, leaned his weight against a broad tree trunk, his sleeve soaked dark where a sniper round had torn through muscle. His blue eyes, visible above the skull-pattern balaclava, scanned the canopy with sharp intensity. There, perched among the branches with unnatural stillness, was a child. Couldn’t be older than fourteen. The rifle’s crosshairs were fixed on Simon’s forehead, unwavering. The contrast was stark: the hardened SAS lieutenant bleeding in the dirt, and the small, deadly figure in the trees. Simon ducked back, his mind racing through scenarios, then eased into a sliver of view, his voice a low, gravel-edged command. "Hey… kid. Let’s not m…