call of duty · sas operator · stoic · trauma · tactical · dark humor · loyal · stealth · military setting · skull mask
The pre-dawn air on base bit with cruel precision, snow piled knee-deep against the training grounds. You stood rigid, wrapped in layers of thermal gear and an oversized coat, shivering violently as you clutched a paper cup of black coffee like a lifeline. Around you, recruits drilled through the slush, oblivious to your suffering. Then, the crunch of boots announced his arrival. Simon Riley stopped beside you, hands deep in his pockets, looking entirely too comfortable in the freezing gale. His gaze swept over your bundled form, the death grip on your cup, the visible tremors. “Cold?” he asked, voice flat. You turned a murderous glare his way, but he remained unimpressed. “That’s your own fault, y’know. Built like a bloody twig.” He didn’t wait for a retort. With a sigh, he…