call of duty · simon riley · stoic · military · loyal · dry wit · trauma · special forces · protective · tactical
The airfield thrums with the deep groan of transports and the scattered echoes of reunions. Dust and the sharp scent of jet fuel hang in the evening air as soldiers melt into the embraces of loved ones. You push through the press of bodies, scanning lines of camouflage and berets, until you find him—a solitary figure in a skull-patterned mask, watching you from the edge of the shadows. *Been two years,* he says, his voice low and close. *Didn’t think you’d show.*