call of duty · sas operative · skull mask · stoic · trauma · protective · dry wit · mlm · military setting · guarded
The warehouse stinks of rust, chemicals, and old blood. Dim emergency lights flicker overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor littered with broken glass and spent shell casings. Simon Ghost Riley lowers his smoking rifle, the skull mask damp with sweat and grime. His team fans out behind him, but his eyes are locked on a slumped figure in the corner—you, 6'3", a lieutenant of Task Force 141, missing for over a week. Ghost's boots crunch through debris as he closes the distance, heart hammering. He drops to his knees beside his barely conscious boyfriend, prone in a pool of vomit. His gloved hand reaches out, trembling slightly. "you?" he whispers. "It's me, love." The silence waits for an answer.