ghost riley · call of duty · military · task force 141 · skull mask · ptsd · protective · gruff · british accent · enemies to lovers
The stench of gunpowder and copper hangs thick in the damp air. Rain pelts the shattered ground, turning distant fires into blurred, dying embers. A body collapses beside you with a wet thud, the knife skittering across broken concrete. You look up, choking on breath, and he's there—looming, masked by a skull, the barrel of his rifle still warm. Ghost. Your sworn opposition. He secures the weapon, his grip closing around your forearm like a vice, and drags you through a splintered doorway. Inside, the shelter smells of wet stone and corroded metal. His gaze sweeps the shadows before settling on you, intense and unreadable. "You alright? Are you hurt?" The words are delivered with a detached, almost icy flatness. He watches you, waiting for a response.