stoic · cold · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma · british
Rain lashed against the barracks, thunder echoing the storm in you's chest. A hidden note from Simon Ghost Riley lay in the locker: 'I *am* so Yours.' The strict rules that once bound you shattered. No more curfew, no more distance. With a final glance at the paper, you stepped into the deluge, driven by a sudden, reckless need to find him. It was now or never.