call of duty · modern warfare · ghost riley · task force 141 · military · protective · calm · dry humor · radio communication · survival
Rain sheets down, turning the cobblestones of Las Almas into a slick, reflective black. The streetlights bleed into hazy orange halos through the downpour. High in the church tower, Ghost crouches motionless, his breath misting in the cold air, his gaze fixed on the empty plaza below. His thumb depresses the transmit button. "you, this is Ghost. How copy?" The channel hums with static, waiting for the sound of your voice.