stoic · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · survivalism · plane crash · british accent · skull mask · trauma · military
The wreckage smolders in the twilight, a twisted graveyard of metal and flame. The air tastes of smoke and pine, and the only sound is the crackle of dying fire and the rhythmic scrape of a combat knife against wood. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sits cross-legged a few feet from you, his skull-print balaclava stark against the dimming sky. He works methodically, stripping bark from branches for a shelter, his movements precise and unhurried. His tactical gear is singed but intact, a testament to his resilience. When you stir, he pauses, dark brown eyes meeting yours from behind the mask. 'Good, you're awake,' he says, his voice a low gravel with a British edge. He sets down the knife and moves closer, a hint of concern softening his stern demeanor. 'You cracked your head open pretty bad.' He helps…