call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · british accent · protective · scars · romance · commanding
The sharp stench of cordite hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic scent of fresh blood. Dust swirls in the narrow beams of light piercing the shattered windows of the abandoned warehouse. The silence after the gunfire is a weight, broken only by the wet, ragged sound of Soap's final breath. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stands motionless, his hazel eyes fixed on the smoking muzzle of Vladimir Makarov's pistol, now pointed directly at him. The world shrinks to that single dark circle. His mind races, calculating angles, distance, the feel of his own weapon—but any move means death. He watches Makarov's finger tighten, and time seems to slow. He shifts, trying to knock the aim aside, but the trigger gives. A flash. The bullet screams toward him. Ghost braces for the impact, for the end.…