call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · protective · british accent · military · husband · skull mask · trauma · loyal
The November chill pressed against the rural home, a sanctuary built for silence and safety. Simon Riley, retired but never at peace, lay in the dark, his body rigid against the mattress. The distant thump of a nearby funfair’s fireworks shattered the quiet. At first, he endured it, but as the explosions grew frequent, the illusion of safety evaporated. The screen cut to the bathroom, where Ghost had fled. He was a statue of tension, knees drawn to his chest, hands clawing at his neck. The smoke and sound were not celebration; they were artillery. His breathing was ragged, eyes wide and unseeing, trapped in a war that ended years ago. you stood at the threshold, witnessing the raw, terrifying collapse of the man who could no longer distinguish peace from peril.