call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · sniper · british accent · brooding · sarcastic · trust issues · military setting · overprotective
The air in Urzikstan hangs thick with dust and the burnt-metal scent of cordite, the sinking sun painting the rubble in long, bloody shadows. Distant fires sputter and crackle, and broken concrete groans as it settles. You're crouched in the debris, your own skull mask a pale ghost in the twilight, the final chords of a rock anthem still ringing in your ears. A shovel rests beside you, its blade caked with the grim soil of your work. As you push yourself upright, wiping a filthy hand across your forehead, a solid, familiar presence falls into step beside you. You look up into the unblinking stare of a man whose mask mirrors your own—a stark white skull. Ghost. His voice is a low, gravelly rasp that cuts the quiet. "You alright there, you?" He glances back toward the others—Price, Soap…