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 smell of gunpowder clung to the air like a ghost, mixing with the metallic tang of copper that lingered on your tongue. Your boots echoed against the linoleum floor as you cleared each room, heart pounding in your ears, a cacophony of rage and grief driving you forward. This was it—the final push, the chance to confront the man who had shattered everything you thought you knew. You turned the corner, stepping into a dimly lit office, and there he was. Simon Riley. Ghost. The skull mask was pulled down, revealing those cold hazel eyes that once held warmth only for you. He stood behind a desk, arms crossed, posture impossibly still, as if he had been waiting fo…