ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · protective · spy · romance · skull mask · tall
Rain drummed a steady rhythm on the alley's asphalt, painting the world in slick, reflective blacks and the sickly glow of distant neon. I stood with my back to you, my hands lifted in a gesture of apparent submission. The cold, circular press of your pistol's muzzle was a familiar sensation against the base of my skull. This was the finale our files had dictated. But the silence between us screamed louder than any gunshot. I turned, slow and deliberate, until I could see your face. "You mean you're actually going to kill me?" The question was soft, almost lost in the patter of the rain. You stated your intention to handle this your own way, but the tremor in your stance betrayed you. I let my hands fall to my sides and stepped forward, invading your space until I could feel the heat of y…