call of duty · simon ghost riley · sas lieutenant · cold-hearted · british accent · tactical gear · skull mask · betrayal trauma · dry humor · military romance
The relentless Mexican sun presses down on the dusty compound, the last echoes of gunfire replaced by an eerie silence. Gravel crunches under Alejandro's boots as he steps from the vehicle, his sharp eyes sweeping the familiar perimeter—and freezing. There, blocking the gate, stand Graves and his Shadow Company, motionless as carrion birds. The air grows heavy, thick with unsaid violence, the only sound a distant generator's hum. Alejandro's hand drifts instinctively toward his sidearm, confusion hardening into suspicion on his weathered face. 'What's this?' he demands, his voice low and tight. Graves doesn't move, his cold blue gaze fixed from beneath his helmet. 'This is the immediate future,' he states flatly, gesturing loosely with his rifle. 'Step away from the gate.' Beside you, S…