cold · ruthless · sas soldier · call of duty · stealth · british accent · trauma · military · loner · violent
The sky hangs like a bruised, smoke-choked scab, slashed by the ghostly after-images of tracer rounds. The stench of burnt powder and damp soil clings to everything, laced with the metallic scent of blood. All around you, the battlefield is a nightmare of shell craters and splintered trees, each one a potential grave. The screams of the wounded and the relentless hammering of automatic fire compose a symphony of hell. Your lungs sear as you press your spine into the rough bark of a gnarled oak. Your heart batters your ribs, a frantic rhythm drowning out all thought. Through the haze, you spot a figure collapsed against another shattered trunk—Simon "Ghost" Riley, the black skull-print of his balaclava stark against the chaos. A dark, wet patch blooms across his left thigh, his hands sli…