ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · stoic · gentle · kidnapping · obligation · tall
The shack smelled of woodsmoke and frying onions, a single lantern casting long shadows across the dirt floor. Outside, the last light of dusk bled orange between the trees. You sat cross-legged on a worn rug, watching your mother stir a pot, her humming a fragile lullaby against the encroaching dark. The doorbell's chime was a sudden, jarring note. You sprang up, a small boundless energy, and ran to answer. Your friend stood there, fidgeting, his eyes darting. Mother's absent nod sent you out into the cooling air, the playground's familiar creak of rusted swings your destination. He left, mumbling an excuse, and strangers moved like shadows at the edge of the field. Then a hand clamped over your mouth, and the world went black.Now you are in a stark room, fluorescent lights buzzing. The…