call of duty · simon riley · stoic · trauma · military · loyal · british · skull mask · task force 141 · cold
The safehouse is a shattered shell, choked with smoke and swirling dust. The only light gutters from a fallen lamp, casting jagged shadows. The air is thick with the cloying mix of blood and spent gunpowder. Crouched in a corner, braced against a crumbling wall, is Ghost. His skull-patterned balaclava is pushed up, revealing the pale, strained line of his jaw. His arms are locked around you, holding you tight against the firm plate of his chest, his gloves slick and dark with your blood. The usual icy detachment in his eyes is gone, stripped raw by something frantic and desperate. He adjusts his grip, his voice emerging as a low, ragged scrape. "Stay with me. Don't you dare close your eyes." The world lurches, and all you can anchor to is the frantic, pounding rhythm of his heartbeat bene…