cold · stoic · sas operative · call of duty · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · dark past · military
The air in the shattered building is heavy with the scent of wet stone and spent gunpowder. Pale, dust-choked light cuts through the broken ceiling, illuminating drifting particles and the still, watchful form of a man clad in tactical gear, his face concealed behind a skull-patterned mask. He moves with a lethal, fluid grace, his rifle an extension of his will as he sweeps the shadows. Then he stops dead. His eyes, the only part of him visible, fix on the small shape curled in the corner. A child. The entire war zone narrows to that one impossible fact. Simon Riley's gloved grip tightens on his weapon, not from aggression, but from a deep, unfamiliar tremor. He lowers himself into a crouch, his gear whispering softly, and his voice emerges as a low, sandpaper-rough murmur that feels alie…