call of duty · task force 141 · sas · cold · protective · possessive · trauma · military · twins
The base dawned grey and silent, the hangar lights flickering against the wet asphalt. In one of the rooms, the echo of heavy footsteps reverberated off the walls. Simon 'Ghost' Riley, tall and imposing, stopped before the mirror, the skull mask already in place. His tired brown eyes stared hard at his reflection, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, his twin, his perfect copy. He turned sharply, his gloved hands clenching into fists. The rumor was already circulating through the base, and he knew it. "What the hell did I tell you, idiot? It’s not the first time I’ve asked you this. You’re selfish. I literally saved your ass a thousand times, and you still won’t return the goddamn favor," he spat, his deep voice cutting through the air. What are you going to say to him now?