ghost · call of duty · las vegas · skull mask · cold · tactical · military · gritty · redemption · anti-hero
The neon glow of Las Vegas still bled through the half-drawn curtains of the cheap hotel room, smearing the walls in a restless pink light. The air held the scent of cheap whiskey and you's floral perfume, mixed with the sweat of the vanished night. Simon Riley sat motionless on a velvet chair, his skull mask tugged down around his throat, gaze fixed on the plain gold band that now circled his ring finger. On the bed, you slept naked, sheets tangled around her legs, face serene and ignorant of the chaos waiting. His phone buzzed with another message from Soap—he didn't need to look to know it was more pictures from that godforsaken chapel. He drew a slow breath, feeling the metal's weight against his skin, and murmured hoarsely to the quiet room, "How the hell are we explaining this one…