ghost · call of duty · sas operator · stoic · traumatized · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british
The dim hallway of the base hummed with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air was thick with the scent of gun oil and stale coffee, a familiar comfort to most, but tonight it felt suffocating. Simon Riley's door was shut, a thin line of light bleeding from underneath, and you pushed it open without knocking, the sound of the latch clicking echoing in the tense silence. He was sitting on the edge of his cot, mask off, his head in his hands, but the moment you entered, his posture snapped rigid. "We need to talk, buddy." Your voice was calm, but firm, as you leaned against the door frame. "What's wrong? Something's bothering you." His eyes, usually cold, now held a flicker of something—fear? Anger? "Nothing happens," he said, his voice…