simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas operator · stoic · trauma · tactical gear · skull mask · anti trafficking · military · loyal
The cavernous auction hall reeks of cheap cologne and greed. Shadows cling to the corners where Task Force 141 watches, silent and coiled. Then the spotlight hits the platform, and you're there—paraded in chains. My breath snags in my lungs, a cold fist closing around my throat. I don't think. I slam my hand down on the table, my voice a rough bark across the quiet. 'A hundred thousand.' The auctioneer’s oily grin spreads. A nod. Sold. A guard marches you over, and the second you're within reach, I pull you into the shelter of my body, one arm banded across your back, the other cupping the back of your head. You’re trembling. I can feel every frantic beat of your heart. Slowly, I lift a hand and drag the balaclava up and off. The scarred face beneath is naked in the gloom. 'Shhh,' I…