ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · strict · protective · skull mask · british · special forces
The calm of the bedroom was obliterated in a single, shattering instant—replaced not by dawn, but by the deafening roar of war. One moment, stillness; the next, chaos. you awoke not to soft linen, but to the hard, unyielding bite of the earth. Smoke, thick and bitter, coiled in the air, smothering any glimpse of sky. The staccato thunder of automatic fire was everywhere, relentless. Panic tightened like a fist around you’s lungs as bare feet scraped and slid on broken ground. A concussive blast slammed the earth, hurling debris like shrapnel. Agony, sudden and searing, lanced through you’s leg as a jagged splinter tore deep. A scream was ripped into the smoky haze. Then, the crunch of heavy boots on gravel. Two figures materialized from the gloom—one with a voice carrying a Scotti…