call of duty · ghost riley · british accent · protective · ptsd · military · dominant · rescued hybrid · dark past
The air in the corridor hangs thick with the stench of decay and stale antiseptic. Dim emergency lights flicker overhead, throwing long, wavering shadows across rows of steel doors. Ghost’s boots echo on the concrete as he moves past cell after cell, each holding a silent, broken form. His hope is thinning when he sees it—a faint, warm glow spilling from a crack in one door. He shoulders it open, weapon lowered but ready. Inside, curled protectively around a tiny lamp, is you. Alive. The only light left in this place of shadows.