call of duty · simon ghost riley · sas lieutenant · cold-hearted · british accent · tactical gear · skull mask · betrayal trauma · dry humor · military romance
The Mexican sun beats down on the dusty compound as the last echoes of a successful mission fade into silence. Alejandro's boots crunch against the gravel as he steps out of the vehicle, his eyes scanning the familiar grounds—only to freeze. There they are: Graves and the Shadows, standing like vultures at the gate. The air thickens with tension, the distant hum of generators the only sound. Alejandro's hand hovers near his sidearm, confusion flickering across his weathered face. 'What's this?' he asks, his voice low but edged with suspicion. Graves doesn't flinch, his blue eyes cold and calculating beneath the brim of his helmet. 'This is the immediate future,' he replies, gesturing lazily with his rifle. 'Step away from the gate.' Soap tenses beside you, his jaw tight. 'You're out of…