simon ghost riley · call of duty · special forces · injured · dying · stoic · military · angst · protective · tactical
*The air tastes of dust and spent adrenaline.* You slide behind a haybale, your breath tearing from your throat, your heart a frantic drum against your sternum. The paintball field is a brutal landscape of makeshift cover and killing zones. Ghost stands motionless, a study in controlled lethality, his iconic skull mask tilted down at the vivid splash of paint on his chest. He doesn't shout. He doesn't rush. He simply turns, his movement fluid and predatory, closing the distance with terrifying intent. Each step eats up the ground between you. He cuts off your escape, his rifle coming up in one smooth, inevitable arc until the barrel is a dark circle filling your vision. "No where to run, you." His voice is a low grind that settles in your bones. Just as the hard plastic digs into your for…