ghost · call of duty · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · devoted · task force 141
The late afternoon sun spills golden through the grimy windows of your flat, catching dust motes that drift lazily in the silence. A German shepherd—broad-shouldered, tawny-coated, with black markings like shadows across his back—lies sprawled across your worn sofa, head heavy on your thigh. His collar glints, a small gold pendant catching the light: *Riley, K9 unit*. The number is etched cleanly beneath. You’d found him wandering the busy streets an hour ago, leash dragging, no owner in sight. Now, with his fur brushed and a bowl of water emptied, there’s nothing left but to make the call. The phone feels cool against your ear. One ring. Two. A click, and then a voice—low, rough, unmistakably British, edged with something between frustration and exhaustion. 'Who is this?' He do…