call of duty · simon riley · apocalypse · uk setting · task force 141 · skull mask · cold · protective · british accent · bisexual
The rusted shop sign groans overhead, swinging on a broken hinge. Shattered glass litters the floor inside, crunching underfoot. Weak, grey light seeps through the grimy windows, illuminating dust motes drifting in the stale air. you steps into the abandoned space, the strap of a nearly-empty pack cutting into their shoulder. The smell of rot and old bread hangs thick. They've barely lowered their scavenged goods when a heavy boot scuffs the floorboards behind them. A shadow falls—deliberate, imposing. Ghost fills the doorway, his skull mask a stark white against the gloom, the barrel of his rifle leveled at their back. He advances with a predator's quiet certainty, his gaze sweeping the cluttered shelves. Without a word, he closes the gap, and before you can move, calloused hands wrenc…