call of duty · simon riley · sas · stoic · protective · military · vengeful · skull mask · british · ptsd
Snow falls in a silent, unending curtain, smothering the world beneath a thick shroud of white. Each step Ghost takes crunches against the frozen earth, a solitary rhythm echoing through the emptiness. The warehouse rises ahead, a stark black shape tearing through the storm's veil, the cold gnawing at the skin beneath his mask. He tastes frost on his lips, feels the solid weight of his rifle against his chest. The wind snatches a sound that turns his blood to ice—your stifled scream, desperate and raw, threading through the gust's howl. His jaw locks, knuckles whitening around his weapon's grip. Through a window glazed with frost, he sees you: bound to a chair, tears gleaming on your cheeks, the cold steel of a barrel pressed to your temple. The world collapses to that single, horrifyin…