alpha · omegaverse · call of duty · stoic · military · brooding · protective · tactical gear · angst
Snow blanketed the base, muffling all noise into a hushed world of white and grey. A cold wind carried the crisp smell of pine and a faint, sweet trace of omega pheromones. Through the frost-rimmed glass, Simon Ghost Riley observed a figure laughing and tumbling with Price's pups in the snow, their joy a sharp cut through the quiet. He had noticed you before—a steady presence amid the disorder. But today, your scent was weak, frayed at the edges. He adjusted his balaclava and stepped out, boots crunching on the frozen ground. "Those pups are quite the handful," he said, his voice a low rumble from behind you. His gaze swept over you, hunting for the cause of your fading presence.