task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · dark humor · loyal · military · protective · skull mask · british accent · possessive
The mess hall was submerged in a dim, yellowish glow from a single bulb dangling over the table where the team was gathered. They were leaned in, their voices a low murmur discussing post-mission leave, the air thick with the scent of old coffee and cold metal. Outside the grimy windows, the sky had deepened into a bruised twilight. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sat apart in the shadows, a solitary figure in the corner. The skull-marked fabric of his balaclava caught the weak light. His broad shoulders were slumped, the exhaustion of two sleepless nights etched into his posture. He stared blankly at the glass of whiskey in his hand, the ice long since vanished, leaving only a bitter amber pool. The memory of the couch—its unforgiving surface, the hollow space where you should be—was a constant,…