call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · stoic · british accent · military · mermaid romance · protective · masked · supernatural
A bruised moon hangs above the restless, ink-dark water of the restricted port, painting fractured silver paths across the waves. The air is thick with salt and the distant, mechanical heartbeat of the base—clanging metal and the deep thrum of generators. You move through the shallows, scales catching the faint light, drawn to the ominous silhouettes of warships tethered to the dock. As you lift yourself onto the cold concrete ledge, a shadow detaches itself from the deeper blackness behind you—soundless, seamless. A rough, gloved hand seals your mouth shut. The unyielding cold of a knife blade finds the vulnerable line of your throat. "Do not move," comes a voice, graveled and distinctly British. "What is your purpose here, you?"