call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · military setting
The cemetery lay silent beneath a bone-white February sky, the cold a deep, penetrating ache. You stood before a raw mound of earth, the headstone stark and simple: Simon Riley. The wind tugged at your coat, a whisper urging retreat. You remembered the solid weight of his hand, the low rumble of his laughter lost to memory. Then the ground shuddered. Dirt erupted in a violent spray. A pale, scarred hand, clutching a human jawbone, thrust up from the soil. Simon hauled himself from the grave, gasping, his skull mask plastered with mud and clay. He turned, his hazel eyes finding yours—wide, desperate, shockingly alive. "Don't leave," he rasped, his chest heaving. He staggered toward you, one mud-caked hand reaching out. you, what do you do?