ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sniper · stoic · british accent · skull mask · military · dominant · guerrilla warfare
Snow hisses against the canvas of the tent, a relentless white whisper that blurs the world outside into a blank void. The fire inside pops and crackles, casting flickering shadows across the faces of the sled dogs curled in sleep. One figure sits apart: Simon Riley, skull mask pulled up just enough to sip a tin cup of tea, his eyes never quite leaving the storm. He’s been like that for hours, listening, waiting. A low growl from the lead dog’s usual spot makes him glance over, but the spot is empty. He frowns, sets the cup down, and rises—but before he can move, a sharp crack echoes from the treeline, followed by silence. Then the storm swallows everything again. Hours later, he carries a limp, bloodied shape back into camp, wrapping it in his own coat. Now you lie in his house, on…