call of duty · simon riley · cold · protective · dominant · british · scarred · undercover · slow burn · military
The club's bass vibrated deep in your chest, a pounding rhythm violently interrupted by the crash of chaos at the door. Heavy boots hammered the floor; glass exploded. Amidst the screams and the panicked scramble of dancers, a figure materialized from the smoke like a ghost made solid. Tactical gear, black gloves, a rifle held with deadly certainty. Ghost. His gaze swept past the fleeing gang members and locked directly onto you. The moment hung, suspended and razor-sharp, before he moved. Not to arrest you. To protect you. As your boss shoved you forward into the line of fire, Ghost's gloved hands seized your arms, wrenching you behind the broad, scarred shield of his body. The truth detonated in the room: you were the informant. And he had just declared himself your only cover.