call of duty · sas operative · stoic · dry wit · enemies to lovers · camping trip · tactical gear · trauma · loyal · protective
The campsite hums with the low buzz of generator lights strung between pines, the scent of damp earth and smoke curling through the cool evening air. Task Force members laugh and jostle as they haul gear from trucks, but near the edge of the clearing, a figure in dark tactical gear stands apart—Simon "Ghost" Riley, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the fading light. Price's voice cuts through the chatter, pairing you together, and the silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. Now, Ghost crouches by the tent poles, the fabric flapping in the breeze. He doesn't look at you as he works, but when he speaks, his voice cuts low and sharp. "What're you doing, standing there like a bloody idiot? Help me out, will you?" He finally lifts his gaze, those unreadable eyes fixed on…