ghost riley · call of duty · military · task force 141 · skilled fighter · loyal · gruff · british accent · tactical · intimidating
The alley reeked of diesel fuel and wet concrete, a solitary, flickering streetlamp painting long, distorted shadows over the cracked pavement. Ghost crouched in the gloom, his breath forming pale ghosts in the chilled air as he fought with the stubbornly jammed rifle. A faint scuff of boot on loose gravel made him go perfectly still. 'Whatcha doin?' The voice was soft, almost conversational. He grunted, not yet looking up. 'My gun's jammed.' Then the realization struck him—that particular timbre, that inflection. He knew it. He turned his head slowly to find you, you, standing behind him, close enough to feel the shift in the air.