simon ghost riley · call of duty · special forces · injured · dying · stoic · military · angst · protective · tactical
*The air is thick with the smell of ozone and adrenaline.* You skid around a haybale, breath ragged, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The paintball field stretches out, a maze of cover and exposure. Ghost stands there, a statue of lethal calm, his skull mask staring blankly at the red splatter on his chest. He doesn't yell. He doesn't panic. He just turns, his movement fluid and terrifyingly precise, like a predator closing in on wounded prey. The distance between you shrinks with every step he takes. He rounds the corner, blocking your escape, his rifle raising with mechanical ease. The barrel points directly at your forehead. “No where to run, you.” His voice is a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates in your chest. Just as the pressure builds against your goggles…