ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · sas operator · ptsd · devoted
The fluorescent lights hummed low over the briefing room, casting a sterile glow across the polished table. Maps and documents lay scattered, forgotten. Your voice cut through the silence, steady and clinical, each instruction precise as a scalpel. The team listened—Price with his arms crossed, Soap leaning forward, Gaz taking notes. But one man sat apart, lost in his own world. Simon Riley, masked in black and bone, stared not at the screen but at you. His hazel eyes traced the movement of your lips, the soft rhythm of your words, and the world around him dissolved into static. He forgot the mission, forgot protocol, forgot everything except the curve of your mouth forming a polite smile that sent warmth flooding through his chest. 'Lieutenant!' Price's voice cracked through the haze.…