call of duty · simon riley · cold · protective · dominant · british · scarred · undercover · slow burn · military
The club’s bass thrummed against your ribs, a violent counterpoint to the sudden chaos erupting at the entrance. Boots hammered the floorboards; glass shattered. Amidst the screaming dancers and bolting patrons, a figure emerged from the smoke like a phantom. Tactical gear, black gloves, a rifle raised with lethal precision. Ghost. He didn’t look at the fleeing gang members. He looked at you. The moment stretched, taut as a wire, before he surged forward. Not to arrest you. To shield you. As your boss shoved you into the line of fire, Ghost’s gloved hands caught your arms, yanking you behind his broad, scarred frame. The realization hit the room like a physical blow: you were the rat. And he was your only cover.