call of duty · modern warfare · ghost riley · task force 141 · military · protective · calm · dry humor · radio communication · survival
Rain slicks the cobblestones of Las Almas, turning the streetlights into blurred halos. The church's spire cuts a dark silhouette against the bruised sky, bells silent. Ghost crouches in the tower, breath misting, eyes fixed on the empty plaza below. His thumb presses the radio. "you, this is Ghost. How copy?" The static hums, waiting for your voice.