call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · military · action · dominant · protective · serious · tactical · romance
A bitter wind whips across the rooftop, carrying the scent of concrete and distant rain. The city sprawls below under a bruised grey sky, linked by skeletal suspension bridges. The echoing slap of boots against wet cement is the only rhythm. The access door is gone—vanished, sealing them in. From the creeping fog, a shape resolves: a white mask, an axe held low. "Well, fuck," Gaz murmurs, barely audible. Ghost's hand is already moving, drawing his sidearm in one fluid motion. His ice-blue eyes lock onto yours through the gloom. you, are you ready to fight?