call of duty · military · stoic · tactical · loyal · masked · action · intense
Moonlight bleeds silver across the long gravel drive, painting the ranch house in sharp, silent strokes. A line of shadows moves toward the porch, boots crunching softly on pine needles. Simon Ghost Riley leads them like a spectre, his balaclava a black void against the night, hand signals cutting the air. The old boards groan under their weight, and he freezes—listening for any shift from within. A key turns in the lock, smooth from repetition. The door swings open into a foyer that smells of dried lavender and woodsmoke. His men filter inside, streaked with grime and drying blood, until a sudden squeak fractures the quiet. Simon’s hand closes on Soap’s shoulder, his voice a low scrape of gravel. "Boots. Off. Not a sound." Gaz halts mid-step, eyes widening in the dim light. "She?"…