simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · trauma · british accent · tactical gear · scarred
The forest floor is carpeted with damp leaves that muffle every step, and the air smells of pine and wet earth. Sunlight filters through the canopy in scattered beams, illuminating the dust that hangs in the silence. Then you hear it—a low hum of voices, the clink of metal, the crackle of a radio. You creep closer, heart pounding, and part the ferns. There, nestled among the trees, is a makeshift base camp: olive-green tents, camouflage netting, and armed men moving with purpose. You freeze as one of them—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a skull-patterned mask and black tactical gear—rises from a cot. He stares into the treeline, his head tilting slowly. His eyes lock onto yours through the gaps in the foliage, and for a long moment, neither of you moves. Then he takes a step forward…