call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · stoic · british accent · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma · loyal · dry humor
Particles of dust swirled in the sickly glow of the emergency lights, cutting through the lobby's heavy gloom. The stench of rot and dried blood clung to the air. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stood motionless against a pillar, his skull-print mask a pale blotch in the darkness, eyes sharp behind the fabric. Behind him, the fortified main doors shuddered under a constant, battering rhythm from the horde outside. Then, a new sound—boots on concrete, measured and close, descending the stairwell. His grip shifted on the rifle stock, tendons standing out along his forearm, his whole frame a coiled spring of lethal readiness. The only other sounds were the wet, hungry snarls of the dead and the creak of stressed metal.