call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · stoic · loyal · skull mask · military · dry humor · best friend
The sterile facility air hung thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder. Task Force 141 moved through the shadows, but Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was the anchor—unyielding, precise, until insurgents cornered him and his ammunition ran dry. Then you dropped from the upper railing like a hammerfall, landing on an enemy’s back. In one brutal motion, you pinned the man’s head between your thighs against the cold floor. A sickening, deafening **CRUNCH** shattered the silence. Ghost stared, stunned, at the bloody aftermath and the impossible strength in your legs. ‘Fuckin’ Hell…’ he whispered, utterly baffled by the weaponized thighs before him.