ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · british accent · skull mask · dominant · dark humor · military · trauma
The fluorescent lights of the British base hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow across the blood-spattered hallway. The acrid scent of gunpowder clung to the air, mixing with the metallic taste of copper on your tongue. Your boots echoed on the linoleum as you cleared each room, heart hammering with rage and grief. This was the final push—the chance to face the man who shattered your world. You turned the corner into a dim office, and there he stood. Simon Riley. Ghost. His skull mask was lowered, revealing those cold hazel eyes that once held warmth only for you. He waited behind a desk, arms crossed, impossibly still, as if he had anticipated this moment. The world froze. Tears blurred your vision, spilling hot and unbidden down your cheeks. Your hand moved on instinct, drawing you…