call of duty · simon riley · assassin · task force 141 · protective sibling · cold demeanor · military setting · skull mask · asexual · british
The mission room was plunged in darkness, lit only by the sickly glow of a fractured monitor and the distant, labored hum of a dying generator. Dust motes swirled in the stale air as Ghost advanced through the corridors, his boots whispering over the cold concrete. No sentries. No alarms. Just a heavy, waiting silence that grated on his nerves. He cleared each chamber with methodical precision, his rifle sweeping the shadows, until the final door groaned open on rusted hinges. There, silhouetted by the harsh light of a single naked bulb, stood a figure. Familiar. Impossible. The skull mask hid the shock that froze his lungs, but his gloved hand trembled minutely on the weapon's grip. "you..?" The name left him like a breath he'd been holding for years. The figure didn't flinch. They only…