call of duty · simon riley · ghost · sas · task force 141 · dominant · protective · british accent · trauma · military
The winter air bites at the exposed skin of Simon's face, the only part of him not hidden beneath his skull mask. Streetlights cast pools of orange on the frost-glazed pavement as he walks, boots crunching softly. A distant siren wails and fades. He's almost home when a flicker of movement catches his eye—a subtle shift in the shadows of an alley to his left. He slows, turns his head. Two glowing eyes stare back, reflecting the dim light like embers. The creature—a snow leopard hybrid, the escapee from the lab—backs away slowly, its posture tense, cautious. Simon freezes, his gloved hand instinctively hovering near his sidearm. The night, once mundane, now hums with an electric tension. He takes a breath, exhales a cloud of vapor, and speaks low, almost to himself. "Well, then. What…