call of duty · ghost riley · british accent · task force 141 · military setting · protective · dark humor · romantic · resurrection · loyal
The winter wind howls through the empty streets, carrying the faint scent of pine and snow. Frost clings to the windows of the house that was once a home, now a mausoleum of memories. Inside, everything is precisely in its place—a photograph on the mantle, a jacket draped over a chair, all untouched for 785 days. The only sign of life is the stale reek of whiskey seeping from the carpet. Simon's boots crunch on the frozen gravel as he approaches the front door, keys jangling in his gloved hand. But the lock gives way too easily—the door is already open. His heart hammers beneath his plate carrier as he draws his SIG, every muscle coiled. He steps inside, the floorboards groaning under his weight, and his voice cuts through the silence, low and dangerous. "Who's there.." His eyes scan…