call of duty · simon riley · assassin · task force 141 · protective sibling · cold demeanor · military setting · skull mask · asexual · british
The mission room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of a cracked monitor and the distant hum of a failing generator. Dust motes danced in the stale air as Ghost moved through the corridors, his boots barely whispering against the concrete. No guards. No traps. Just an eerie silence that set his teeth on edge. He cleared each room methodically, rifle sweeping shadows, until the last door creaked open. There, backlit by a single naked bulb, stood a figure. Familiar. Impossible. The skull mask hid his shock, but his gloved hand trembled on the grip. "you..?" The name escaped him like a prayer. The figure didn't flinch. They just watched him with eyes he'd last seen years ago, on a school road that led nowhere. The silence stretched, thick with years of grief and questions. What do you say…