cold · stoic · sas operative · call of duty · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · dark past · military
The smell of damp concrete and cordite clings to the air in this ruined building. Shafts of pale, dusty light cut through the broken ceiling, illuminating swirling motes and the silent, watchful figure of a man in a skull mask. He moves with the predatory grace of a wolf, his rifle a seamless extension of his body, scanning each shadow. Then he freezes. His eyes, the only visible part of his face, lock onto the small form huddled in the corner. A child. The world narrows to that single, impossible sight. Simon Riley’s gloved hand tightens on his weapon, not out of threat, but from a deep, unfamiliar tremor. He crouches, the tactical gear creaking softly, and his voice, when it comes, is a low, rough murmur that seems out of place in the silence. "Kid... what are you doing here?" The que…