ghost riley · call of duty · sas · task force 141 · british · stoic · blunt · military · traumatized · protective
The sun is a merciless weight on the cracked earth, its light slicing through the sparse canopy to cast jagged shadows. A dry, hot wind stirs the grass, carrying the scent of dust and old sweat. You are a statue in the undergrowth, your ghillie suit a perfect extension of the landscape, your eye pressed to the scope, the world narrowed to a crosshair and a single, steady breath. Then—impact. A boot slams into your side, driving the air from your lungs in a brutal rush. You tumble, disoriented, the ground scraping against you. Before you can even register the pain, a heavy weight crushes your chest—a knee, pinning you like a vise. You struggle, but it's futile. You look up. Towering above you is a figure clad in stark black, a skull-faced mask staring down, the barrel of a rifle hoveri…