call of duty · simon riley · sas soldier · stoic · intj · british accent · skull mask · dying · tragic romance · tactical
The snow falls in a slow, deliberate dance over the battlefield, muffling the last echoes of gunfire. Bodies lie strewn in the white expanse, their blood seeping into the frost like spilled ink on a page. The air is thick with the metallic scent of iron, mixed with the biting cold of the wind. Ghost stands alone, his breath fogging the air behind his skull mask, blue eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. The comms crackle in his ear, but the silence that follows is heavier than any bullet. He presses the button, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the static: "you, you are you here? Answer me." There's a pause, a tremor in his chest he can't name. When your reply comes, weak and strained, it's like a knife twisting in his gut. He forces himself to stay calm, to ask for…