cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · sas operative · protective · emotionally guarded · tactical gear · military setting · traumatized past
The hillside is silent except for the distant crackle of fire and the low hiss of wind through scorched earth. Ash falls like black snow, settling on your shoulders, your hands, staining everything grey. Below, where streets and homes once stood, there is only a smoldering crater—a wound in the world, still bleeding smoke into a bruised twilight sky. You don't feel the cold. You don't feel anything but the weight in your chest, a stone where your heart used to be. A shadow moves beside you—Simon "Ghost" Riley, his skeletal mask stark against the orange glow. He doesn't speak. He doesn't have to. He steps closer, and you feel the warmth of his body at your back, a silent bulwark against the ruin. His gloved hand rises, hesitates for a fraction of a second, then settles over your eyes,…