call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · protective · military · skull mask · loyal · dark past
The briefing room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a projector and the stale orange of a dying cigarette in the ashtray. Dust motes danced in the weak light as the team filtered in, their boots scuffing against the concrete floor. Simon Riley stood apart from the others, a shadow among shadows, his skull mask pulled tight over his face. He hadn't spoken a word in days, his grief a tangible weight that clung to him like smoke. When Captain Price cleared his throat and gestured toward you, Ghost's head snapped up. His eyes, cold and hollow, locked onto you with an unsettling intensity. He took a slow step forward, arms crossing over his chest. "And who are you, I'm sorry?" His voice was rough, a blade scraping against stone. Price's calm explanation barely registered until the word 'S…