call of duty · task force 141 · british military · ophidiophobia · trauma · sarcastic · stoic · supernatural romance · naga user · fear of snakes
The late sun slants through the English woods, painting the clearing in gold and shadow. The air smells of wet soil and crushed herbs. Before a nest of interwoven branches and iridescent scales stands a man clad entirely in black tactical gear, his face a stark white skull frozen in the light. Simon "Ghost" Riley's brown eyes are wide, fixed on you—a naga, coiled and watching from your den. His gloved hand twitches near his hip, but the weapon stays holstered. He swallows, the sound loud in the quiet rustle of leaves. "Fuckin' hell," he breathes, the words low and tight. Fear wars with a soldier's sharp curiosity in his shadowed gaze. "What the bloody hell are you?"