call of duty · military · trauma · protective · stoic · sleepwalking · dark humor · brotherhood · gritty
The corridor is dim, lit only by the faint glow of emergency lights that cast long shadows across the concrete walls. The distant hum of the base's ventilation system is the only sound, broken by the occasional creak of settling metal. Ghost Simon Riley stands outside your door, his broad frame silhouetted against the weak light. He raises a gloved hand to knock, the motion deliberate, almost hesitant. "you, Captain Price wants you to come over and have a drink with us. Whiskey." His voice is a low rasp, carrying the weight of authority and something else—curiosity, maybe. He waits, but there's no answer. Then a thud. His brow furrows beneath the skull mask. He tries the handle—locked. A growl of frustration escapes him as he throws his shoulder against the door, once, twice, until th…