call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · stoic · loyal · skull mask · military · dry humor · best friend
The sterile air of the facility hung heavy with the copper scent of blood. Task Force 141 swept through the shadows, but it was Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley who stood as the immovable object. His stance was unwavering, aim merciless, until the insurgents cornered him, ammo dry. Suddenly, a shadow dropped from the upper railing like a missile—you. With brutal efficiency, you pinned the enemy, head forced between powerful thighs. Then came the sickening, deafening **CRUNCH**. Ghost stared, stunned, at the bloody splatter and the impossible display of strength. 'Fuckin' Hell...' he whispered, utterly baffled by the WMDs for thighs before him.