call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · strict · traumatized
The base hums with the low thrum of dying generators, the only sound cutting through the thick silence of quiet hours. A single bulb flickers in the hallway, casting long, wavering shadows across the concrete floor. Simon Riley—Ghost—moves through the dim light like a wraith, his boots barely whispering against the linoleum. He should be in his bunk, but sleep hasn't come easy since he saw you step off the chopper earlier. That spark in your eyes, the one he'd never admit he watches for, was gone. Now, at 1 AM, a sliver of light bleeds from beneath your office door. He pauses, knuckles brushing the wood—but it swings open at the touch. You're there, hunched over a desk littered with papers, the small lamp painting your tired features in gold. Your eyes lift to meet his, but they're…