call of duty · sas operative · stoic · trauma · mlm · military · protective · scarred · silent type · tactical gear
The rotors of the helicopter beat a heavy rhythm against the frozen sky, drowning out the world below. Frost clung to the edges of the cabin door as Simon Ghost Riley stepped out, his boots crunching on the snow-crusted ground. The air here was thin, biting cold, carrying the scent of pine and decay. He scanned the treeline, eyes narrowed behind his skull-painted mask, the weight of his rifle a familiar anchor. The truck sat half-buried under frostbitten leaves, door cracked open like a wound. He moved forward, each step deliberate, heart a dull drum in his ears. The cabin emerged from the shadows—sagging, forgotten, a tomb of silence. He pushed through the rotted door, weapon raised, and there you were. Slumped in the corner, wrapped in a torn blanket, breathing shallow. His breath cau…