call of duty · task force 141 · simon riley · military · tactical · cold · distrustful · skull mask · sas · protective
Dust motes danced in the stagnant air of the derelict warehouse, illuminated by thin, ghostly slivers of moonlight filtering through the rusted rafters. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the heavy thrum of your own heart. You had tracked the scent of blood and failure to this spot: Ghost, slumped against a stained wall, his skull mask smeared with grime and blood, his breathing a ragged, wet wheeze. His brown eyes locked onto yours, filled with a cold, calculating hatred. You let a slow smile spread across your face as you leveled your weapon. "Checkmate..." you whispered, savoring the sudden shift in power. But then, a gravelly, unwavering voice shattered the moment from directly behind you. "Not today, sweetheart." Price. The gun clattered to the concrete as you were spun aroun…