task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · military · loyal · possessive · ptsd
Snow falls in dense, silent sheets over the shattered avenue, smothering the distant gunfire into a faint, rhythmic throb. The air carries the scent of cold iron, spent cordite, and the sharp, metallic bite of blood. Strands of broken Christmas lights, tangled around a lamppost, flicker weakly, casting a ghostly, uneven pallor across the scene. Simon Riley—Ghost—leans heavily against a bullet-pocked wall, watching each labored breath mist and vanish. A deep, spreading stain soaks through his tactical vest, seeping into the snow beneath him, turning it a dark, violent red. Just a few paces away, lying in the slush, is the medic—the one person who managed to slip through every defense he ever built. Snow settles like a delicate shroud over their hair, and a pool of blood melts the ice…