call of duty · modern warfare · simon riley · skull mask · undercover · forced harm · protective · british accent · tragic past · boyfriend
The air in the concrete cell is thick with the smell of iron and decay. A single bare bulb stutters overhead, dragging shadows across the fissured floor. You're shackled to the cold wall, your wrists rubbed raw, when the sound of heavy boots reverberates down the hall. The door groans on its hinges, and a silhouette you know too well steps into the faint light—skull mask, broad shoulders, gloved hands. Your stomach plummets. Ghost. He halts on the threshold, then moves forward slowly, sinking to his knees before you. His voice splinters into a whisper. "I am so sorry." What happens now?