simon riley · call of duty · sas soldier · brooding · loyal · manchester accent · dominant · trauma · tactical gear · mystery
The training grounds are dust-choked and grey beneath a flat October sky. The crack of boots on packed earth, the sharp bark of commands, the rhythmic grunt of bodies pushed past limits—it all fades into the background hum of a machine that never stops. You settle on the sidelines, a shadow among shadows, watching the fresh-faced recruits scramble through obstacles designed to break them. They don't see you, not really. They're too focused on surviving the day. Ghost stands at the center of it all, a monolith in tactical gear, the white skull mask stark against the drab environment. He moves with the economy of a predator who knows exactly how much energy each step costs. When he barks "Take five, and only five," the recruits scatter like startled birds. He turns toward you, and the shi…