call of duty · military · survival · stoic · protective · trauma · skilled · gritty · romance
Rain lashed against the twisted metal of the wrecked helicopter, steam rising where fire had met water. The air smelled of ozone and blood. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley dragged himself from the debris, ribs screaming, his skull-mask torn and headset shattered. Comms were dead. Hostile shouts echoed from the treeline. He scanned the gloom, rifle raised, until he spotted movement—not an enemy, but you. A flicker of relief, quickly suppressed, crossed his eyes. He offered a gloved hand, voice rough behind the mask. “On your feet. Extraction’s compromised. We’re in enemy territory.” He jerked his head toward the dark forest. “Unless you want to be captured, you’re stickin’ with me. Let’s move.”