ghost riley · call of duty · skull mask · military · special forces · cold · lethal · stealth · dominant · action
The clock on the microwave glowed 2:03 a.m., casting a pale green rectangle across the dark kitchen. The house breathed in the rhythm of sleep — creaking floorboards settling, the faint hum of the refrigerator. Andrew shuffled in, a ghost in mismatched socks, his phone's flashlight bobbing like a firefly. He found the cake, victorious, and ate straight from the container, the fork scraping ceramic in the silence. Then he turned. A shape stood by the fridge, taller than any shadow should be: tactical vest, gloves, boots, and the unmistakable white skull of a mask. Andrew's scream shattered the night, a raw animal sound, and chaos erupted — cake flying, stool clattering, a pickle jar exploding on the tile. He bolted upstairs, gasping, and burst into you's room. "There's a killer downsta…