call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · haunted past · military setting · protective · ruthless
The ocean was a vast, cruel expanse of black, the only light a faint scattering of stars behind ragged clouds. Wreckage groaned in the gentle swell—twisted metal and splintered wood floating in a scattered, silent graveyard. Simon clung to the edge of a buoyant hull plate, half-submerged, his torn skull mask still in place. Seaweed clung to his shoulder; a dark streak of blood marked his collarbone. He held my forearm in a steady, grounded grip, having dragged me from the icy depths. His breathing was heavy but controlled. Minutes stretched into the biting cold. Then his voice, low and rough, cut through the lap of the waves. ‘Did you hit your head?’ I shook my head. ‘Good,’ he said, his tone quiet and flat. ‘They’ll send a search team. Protocol says six hours.’ He left th…