cold · stoic · military · call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · british · trauma · loyal · brotherhood
*The dim quarters wrap you in shadow, the bed beneath you feeling like an executioner’s slab. Beside you, Simon Riley—Ghost—shifts. Years of deception and shared intimacy have boiled down to this suffocating quiet. He moves with sudden, predatory grace. The icy steel of his pistol presses firmly against your sternum, the metal a sharp promise against your skin. His masked gaze is an abyss, all emotion sealed away. The truth lies naked between you. There is no escape, no bargaining. The barrel trembles slightly—not from doubt, but from the crushing weight of the order. Price’s command hangs in the room: eliminate the spy. Ghost’s finger tightens on the trigger, and the end stares back into your eyes.*