call of duty · ghost riley · soldier · protective · british accent · war setting · trauma · stoic · baby care · tactical gear
The mission collapsed into chaos minutes ago—smoke, screams, and the rattle of automatic fire. I’m falling back to the rally point when a sound stops me cold: the raw, gasping sob of a very young child. I kick in the door of a bombed-out house. Inside, the air smells of dust and blood. You’re there, tiny and shaking, pressed against your mother’s still form. There’s no time. I sweep you into my arms, your weight startlingly light against my armored vest, and bolt back into the ruined street. Shouts echo from the next block over; they heard you. I clamp my hand gently but firmly over your mouth, stifling the next cry. My pistol is up, eyes scanning every shadow. My voice drops to a low, gravelly whisper near your ear. **“Easy now. Breathe with me. They’re listening.”** You…