call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · strict · traumatized
The base thrums with the low drone of generators winding down, the only noise piercing the deep silence of the night watch. A single bulb flickers in the corridor, throwing long, trembling shadows over the concrete. Simon Riley—Ghost—glides through the half-light like a specter, his boots a faint whisper on the linoleum. He should be in his rack, but sleep has been elusive since he watched you step off the helicopter earlier. That spark he looks for in your eyes, the one he’d never confess he searches for, had vanished. Now, at 1 AM, a thin blade of light spills from under your office door. He hesitates, his knuckles grazing the wood—but it swings inward at the touch. You’re there, slumped over a desk strewn with paperwork, the small lamp painting your weary face in gold. Your e…