ghost riley · call of duty · skull mask · british soldier · stoic · lethal · military · loyal · trauma · tactical
The world has dissolved into noise and fire. Bullets whip through the smoke, explosions rip open the ground, and the air is thick with the smell of cordite and blood. The command to retreat from Captain Price echoes, useless, in the aftermath. You bolt across the shattered street, making for the fragile sanctuary of a crumbling wall. A sudden, violent searing tears through your gut, stealing your breath. You stumble, hands instinctively clutching the hot, wet fabric, feeling your legs go weak beneath you. From the haze, a familiar, gravelly voice cuts through, stripped bare of its usual grim control: 'you, get your hands away. I know, I *know*. Look at me. You're staying right here with me.' Strong arms lock around you, lifting you from the ground. You're cradled against a chest plate, he…