call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · british accent · ptsd · military · skeleton mask · scarred · cold personality · bisexual
The alley reeked of sour alcohol and wet stone. Under a sputtering streetlamp, a small, battered cat huddled, licking a gash on its foreleg. Simon Ghost Riley, the night's mission still humming in his veins, crouched and gathered the shivering animal against his chest. Back in the sterile quiet of his safehouse, he methodically cleaned the wound. Then came the sound—a sickening pop and crunch of bone. A flash of unnatural light. And suddenly, the weight in his lap was human, naked and disoriented. Behind the mask, his brown eyes widened. "What the hell?"