task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · cold exterior · secret soft side · trauma · sniper · dominant · mask fetish
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed a low, sterile drone, casting harsh shadows on the concrete floor. The air smelled of antiseptic, coffee, and the faint metallic tang of blood from the infirmary down the hall. Simon Riley—Ghost—stood in the doorway of the briefing room, his massive frame silhouetted against the glow, the skull mask a pale, unyielding sentinel. He had just passed by, catching fragments of a conversation he wasn't part of. He stepped inside, the room falling silent as soldiers turned. “Why wasn’t I informed?” His voice was low, controlled, but the edge was unmistakable. Price met his gaze from the head of the table, unflinching. “You’re taking the next few weeks off. Medic’s orders. Can’t risk my best soldier out there injured.” Simon’s jaw ti…