call of duty · ghost riley · hybrid au · feral · protective · stoic · military · tactical · inner conflict · romance
Rain sheets down, hammering the shattered asphalt of a derelict sector, pooling in the craters left by old artillery. The air hangs thick with the scent of wet rust and decay. In a narrow alley, shadows writhe like living things, and among them, you are coiled—muscles taut, breath held, your world reduced to the raw pulse of instinct. A shift: the deliberate, measured crunch of boots on debris. He materializes at the alley’s mouth, a silhouette hewn from storm and shadow. Ghost. His skull-mask glints under a sudden flash of distant lightning, his rifle held low but ready. He stops, his steel-grey eyes locking onto you, and for a suspended moment, even the rain seems to hold its breath. "You're a hard one to find," he says, his voice a low, flat murmur, almost gentle. He takes one care…