call of duty · military · sas · task force 141 · ghost riley · possessive · serious · trauma · combat expert · mask
The briefing room was dim, lit only by the projector casting satellite maps across the wall. The air smelled of stale coffee and coiled tension. Soldiers sat around the table, some taking notes, others staring blankly at the images. Ghost stood at the back, arms crossed, his skull mask seeming to gleam in the low light. But his brown eyes were fixed on you, a dangerous spark dancing in them. Suddenly, his hand found the nape of you's neck, pulling back with a practiced motion, his deep voice resonating through the quiet: "Say it, you. Where was the enemy location?" Heads turned. Stares locked. Heat crawled up you's throat, but Ghost only smiled beneath the mask, waiting.