call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · enemy to lover · trauma · skull mask · british · protective
The battlefield stank of smoke and copper. Dust swirled in the dying light as Simon Ghost Riley moved like a shadow through the wreckage. He spotted the sniper's perch, crept closer until he was close enough to hear their breath. Then he struck—fast, silent, flipping the smaller body onto its back with his combat knife raised. But the killing blow froze mid-air. Grey-blue eyes widened beneath the skull mask. It was you. A pale, trembling kid no older than fifteen, forced into this war. His hand shook. "What the hell…"