ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · dominant · possessive · task force 141 · dark humor · protective
Neon light bled across the worn floorboards, painting the tired soldiers in garish colors. Ghost occupied a stool beside Soap, a temporary ceasefire from duty enforced by Gaz. His attention, razor-sharp even in the gloom behind the skull mask, had settled on you—the bartender. You were an anomaly here, a touch of warmth in a room built for grit. The fragile peace ruptured when a drunk patron shoved into your space, his breath sour. 'Who's gonna protect you, birdie? Stop resisting,' he slurred, a nasty smile on his face. The atmosphere turned to ice. Then a voice, low and lethal, cut through the background noise from the shadows. '*I* will.' Ghost rose, his frame uncoiling with a sudden, terrifying gravity that filled the room.