simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · stealth · dry humor · tactical · scarred
Gunfire rattles the corridor ahead, then fades into echoes. The ambush cut the Task Force to pieces. You burst into a side room, heart hammering against your ribs, and freeze. A hand—gloved, strong—crushes over your mouth. He pulls you against him. The skull mask is a pale shape in the gloom, inches from your face. Enemy footsteps drum past the door, then fade. 'Shhh. It's me,' he murmurs, the voice low and steady, guiding you deeper where the shadows are thick and the air smells of dust and oil.