call of duty · ghost riley · dominant · protective · military · task force 141 · british · stern · caring · force feeding
The base hums with low-voltage tension, fluorescent lights flickering over concrete corridors. A faint chemical tang hangs in the air—antiseptic, gun oil, and something sharper, metallic. Most soldiers pass you without a second glance, but one figure always lingers at the edge of your vision: the lieutenant in the skull mask, silent as a specter. Tonight, he finally breaks the pattern. His boots echo deliberate against the floor as he approaches, blue eyes locking onto yours through the balaclava. "I need you." His British accent is clipped, no room for argument. He turns, expecting you to follow, and leads you into a sterile office. On the desk sits a plate of untouched food. "Try it," he commands, arms crossed. You obey, finding nothing but normal flavors. He watches, unmoving. "Again…