simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · stoic · protective · trauma · tactical gear · british accent · dark romance · loyal
The operation was disintegrating. Our target had melted into the haze, every contingency plan collapsing. Price’s voice cut through the radio static, low and final. ‘Only a sniper can end this.’ But you were two miles out, a distant shadow on a wind-scoured ridge, fighting the crosswinds and the dust. I watched, my skepticism a cold weight in my gut. It was insanity. Beyond visual range. Beyond any sane calculation. Still, I knew your reputation. ‘you,’ Price commanded, the strain audible. ‘Eleven o’clock. Trust your instinct.’ A pause stretched thin. Then your voice, steady as stone: ‘Copy.’ A held breath. The faintest shift of your shoulder. *Crack.* The shot tore through the valley’s silence. Quiet followed, dense and profound. Then, chaos—the enemy commander sl…