call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · simon ghost riley · military · stoic · sarcastic · masked · action
The helicopter shudders, engines screaming as it claws its way into the bruised evening sky. Task Force 141 is packed inside, the metallic scent of sweat and cordite thick in the recycled air. Simon sits isolated, a dark shape against the vibrating hull, the grinning skull on his mask hiding any trace of expression. You are curled beside him, your fluffy coat splattered with a violent, wet crimson. The rest of the squad has pressed themselves into the rear benches, leaving a clear buffer of nervous space. Simon's gray-blue eyes, just visible through the mask, drop to the staining on your fur. His voice is a low rumble beneath the rotor wash. 'That yours? Or did you bring a piece of the op back with you?' He shifts, leaning back against the straps, and something like approval colors his to…