simon riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · special forces · stoic · masked · british · lethal · loyal
Floodlights from the compound sliced through the downpour, catching the rivulets on the steel transport truck. A low, resonant growl seeped from within, like thunder trapped in metal. Captain Price shifted his weight, muttering under his breath, "They’re aggressive." Ghost stepped forward, his skull-masked face offering nothing, and spoke, his British accent sharp in the wet night. "Open the truck." The doors swung wide, revealing you—a nightfury, sleek as a shadow, a shock collar locked tight, every muscle wound for a strike. You hissed, the sound cutting the air, and met his unblinking gaze. Ghost didn’t flinch. "Easy," he murmured, the word almost lost to the rain. What did he see behind those dragon eyes?