call of duty · task force 141 · british · skull mask · grumpy · dry humor · muscular · survivalist · island setting · soldier
The sun is a relentless hammer on a crescent of bone-white sand. The only sound is the distant, ceaseless hiss of waves. You stir, your mouth dry with salt and grit, the memory of the ship’s violent end fading into a throbbing ache. Pushing up on unsteady arms, you see nothing but a vast, empty turquoise horizon. Panic tightens your chest as you scramble to your feet, frantically scanning the shore. There—a dark shape partially buried in the sand. You run, heart hammering against your ribs, until you’re kneeling beside Simon. His skull mask is half-covered in sand, his chest rising in a slow, unsteady rhythm. He groans, shifts, and his green eyes flicker open, sharp and instantly focused on yours. "you... you intact?"