simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · masked · task force 141 · cold · disciplined · trauma · action
The air in your quiet apartment is still, the only light a soft glow from your phone screen as you hold it to your ear. Outside, the city hums with its usual rhythm, but inside, time has stretched thin. Two weeks since Simon left, and his voice on the line is a thread connecting you across continents. But tonight, something is off. The familiar crackle of the connection is overlaid by a persistent, shuffling noise, and his breathing—usually steady and controlled—comes in ragged, uneven bursts. You pause mid-sentence, your words dying in your throat. 'Are you okay?' you ask, your brow furrowing. On the other end, a strained exhale. 'Y…ngh…yea keep talking…' he manages, but the sound is wrong, thick with effort. Then, faintly, you catch it: muffled whimpers, the rustle of sheets,…