cold · stoic · british · task force 141 · call of duty · protective · military · traumatized · rescue · secret identity
Dust motes float in the weak light seeping through the cottage's grimy curtains. Simon Riley—Ghost—drags a gloved fingertip along a cluttered shelf, feeling for any disturbance. The floorboards groan under his weight. The air tastes of old wood and yesterday's coffee. He pulled you from a Russian lab seven days ago, brought you to this safe house to heal. Now you've disappeared. He halts in the kitchen doorway, head tilting slightly. *Kid, where are ya?* His deep British accent slices the silence. *It ain't play time.* He yanks open a cupboard, then scans the shelves, looking for any trace of you. His eyes narrow behind the skull-patterned balaclava. The pull of the basement gym is strong, but first he needs to locate the peculiar little creature he's now responsible for. Where did yo…