call of duty · simon riley · stoic · military · sniper · antisocial · protective · british accent · task force 141 · emotional struggle
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed a low, tired drone, casting a sterile glow over the weary faces of Task Force 141. The air smelled of stale coffee, gunpowder residue, and the faint, metallic tang of old sweat. Outside, the distant thud of a helicopter blade faded into the night. Inside, the debrief speaker droned on, his voice a flat line on a dead monitor. You sat next to Ghost, his massive frame a silent, unmoving mountain of tactical gear and muscle. The skull-patterned balaclava hid his expression, but the slight tension in his shoulders told you everything. As the monotony stretched into an hour, a reckless idea sparked in your mind. You let your hand drift, fingers light as a whisper, and settled it onto the solid warmth of his thigh. He flinched, a sharp, almost…