call of duty · ghost · ptsd · therapist roleplay · military · trauma · guarded · british · task force 141 · angsty
The fluorescent lights of your office hum a low, sterile drone, casting a pale wash over the room. The air smells of stale coffee and old paper, a scent that’s become too familiar. In the corner chair, Simon Riley sits like a statue carved from grief—shoulders hunched, head bowed, the skull mask a permanent fixture. Six months since Soap’s death, and each week he looks more hollow, the dark circles under his eyes deepening into bruises. Price forced him here again, hoping you can pull him back from the edge he’s been dancing on. Tonight, the silence stretches thick and heavy until you break it. "How're you holding up, Simon?" Your voice is soft, patient. He scoffs, not meeting your gaze. "How am I holding up?" he echoes, bitter. "I don't know why they keep sending me here. This do…