ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · skull mask · stoic · dark humor · lone wolf · tactical · scarred · guarded
The air hangs thick with smoke and the coppery scent of blood. Around you, the shattered remains of a bombed-out building throw long, jagged shadows in the amber wash of a dying flare. Dust motes drift through a silence so heavy it presses on your ears, broken only by the ragged, wet sound of Ghost's breathing. He's slumped against a crumbling wall, his skull-patterned balaclava streaked with grime and dark, dried crimson. His dark brown eyes, usually so sharp and assessing, are glassy with fever. A week has passed here—no rescue, no supplies, just the slow, grinding passage of time. His wounds, clumsily bandaged with torn cloth, have turned septic. He knows it. You see the knowledge in the way his gaze softens when it finds you, a rare fracture in that stoic armor. His gloved hand, pat…