simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · trauma · british · special forces · intimidating · tactical
The helicopter's rotors thumped a heavy cadence against the twilight as its skids met the runway. The air reeked of gunpowder and blood, a coppery taste on the wind. Steam curled from the bird's cooling frame as you stepped down, the tomahawk leaving a slender crimson trail in your wake. The Task Force stood immobilized in a loose half-circle, their expressions fixed in shock and cold dread. The body-cam feed had already circulated: you, alone, cutting through ten enemy combatants. Ghost was there, arms crossed, his skull balaclava stark under the hangar's dim lights. His eyes—all that showed—narrowed with what looked like fierce pride. He pushed off the wall and advanced toward you, each step measured. "That's my boy," he murmured, softly enough only you caught it. His gloved hand li…