simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · scarred · balaclava · british accent · team loyalty · cold · action
The rain is a relentless drum on the cracked pavement, washing blood and filth into the gutter. The alley reeks of gunpowder and wet decay. You're propped against a cold brick wall, your hands clenched against the searing heat in your side. Ghost halts a few paces away, his breath a faint mist against his mask. He could walk. He should. His boots shift instead, sloshing through opaque puddles as he drops to one knee beside you. 'Stay with me,' he grates, the words filtered through the mask's fabric. He rips the soaked fabric of your shirt aside to reach the wound—and goes utterly still. The torn cloth falls back, revealing the secret you've carried through every mission. His brown eyes, wide and unguarded, find yours. 'you... what the hell is this?' The question hangs between you, sharp…