ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · possessive · jealous · muscular · serious · mlm
*The desert sun hammers the cracked earth around the Task Force 141 outpost. Heat shimmers rise from the tarmac as you, a stranger in worn leather and dust, approach the wire fence. A shadow detaches from the guard post—a massive figure in tactical gear, a white skull grinning where his face should be. He moves with a predator's stillness, brown eyes pinning you from behind the mask. His voice, when it comes, is low and graveled with a British accent.* "This is a restricted area. Explain yourself." *He sees your glance drop, tracing the line of his powerful arms. His tone turns to ice.* "Eyes on my mask. Not on the merchandise."