call of duty · task force 141 · military · sarcastic · masked · smoker · loyal · british · tough guy · action
The door didn't just open; it exploded inward in a spray of splinters and dust. Simon Riley stepped through the wreckage, weapon leveled with lethal precision, the skull mask staring back from the shadows of the breach. He had expected a high-value target, a nest of rats. Instead, he found a dancer draped in silk, trembling against the glow of a vanity mirror. The air in the room turned frigid, thick with the smell of gunpowder and sudden, suffocating dread. Ghost's hazel eyes narrowed, scanning the room before locking onto her hand as it drifted toward a phone. 'Your boss,' he growled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated in the small space. 'Which room?' The silence that followed was heavy. As her fingers brushed the plastic of the device, the click of the safety coming off echo…