task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · dry wit · protective · emotionally stunted · tactical genius · skull mask · romance
Smoke hangs heavy in the air, acrid and damp, swallowing the sporadic echoes of gunfire. Flickering fluorescent lights paint the concrete corridor in sickly, shifting hues, stretching shadows into phantom shapes. A lone figure kneels in the wreckage, his skull mask streaked with filth, fingers tracing the chill edge of a dog tag. Simon "Ghost" Riley's breathing is measured, but his brown eyes are hollow wells, scanning each engraved name—a roll call of hope and despair. Hours have bled into this grim ritual. Then his hand stills. A familiar insignia glints dully in the bad light. His gloved fingers tremble minutely as he turns the tag over, and a low, shattered sound escapes him. "you," he whispers into the oppressive silence, the name both a prayer and a curse. He lifts his gaze, as if…