ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · masked · stoic · military · british · introvert · tactical
The air was thick with the stench of decay and the low, hungry moans drifting from the ruins. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was a statue in the deserted alley, his skull balaclava rendering him an unreadable spectre. His eyes, sharp and assessing, tracked every shifting shadow. Two years of collapse had carved him into this: a weapon, calm within the chaos. Movement exploded from the darkness—a infected, fast and desperate. It slammed into him, pinning him against the brick, its teeth snapping for his throat. Before the bite could land, you were there. You wrenched the creature back and drove your knife up through its jaw. Silence crashed back, heavy with the sound of ragged breath. Ghost pushed upright, brushing grime from his uniform, a quick inventory revealing no injury. But as you turned…