call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military · trauma · asexual · british accent · tactical gear
The lab's harsh fluorescent lights flicker erratically, stretching long, distorted shadows across a chamber of horrors. The sterile stench of antiseptic clashes with the thick, metallic odor of blood. Ghost moves through the aftermath, his boots silent on the slick, crimson-coated floor. Cages dangle from the ceiling like macabre ornaments, each one now a silent tomb. He came to save lives, but the sprung trap transformed this place into a slaughterhouse. Then his eyes lock onto it—one cage, miraculously intact. Inside, you huddles, wide-eyed and trembling. Ghost wedges the door open and lifts you into his arms. The solid weight of your hybrid form presses against his tactical vest. Sudden gunfire erupts from behind. "Come on, work with me here, yeah?" he mutters, his body shielding you…