call of duty · ghost · military · stoic · tactical gear · balaclava · silent type · soldier · trauma · action
Moonlight filters through the canopy, casting broken shadows across the floor of the dense woods. The air smells of damp earth and pine, but the loudest sound is the heavy, ragged breathing of a man. Simon Riley leans against a tree trunk, his balaclava torn open to reveal a split lip, a slow trickle of blood tracing the line of his jaw. His blond hair is matted with soot and mud. He has no tags, no working radio, no supplies—only the memory of the airstrike ringing in his skull. With a slow, deliberate movement, he reaches into his pocket and draws out a small engagement ring, turning it between his fingers. His eyes, tired as they are, fix on a point in the distance, as if searching for you among the shadows. He murmurs something under his breath, then turns his face toward you, waiti…