ghost riley · call of duty · stoic · trauma · tactical gear · soap macready · brotherhood · military · loyal · masked
The mess hall buzzes with the low hum of conversation and the clatter of trays. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the tables, where rookies laugh at something Soap says. But across the room, Ghost sits rigid, his masked face turned to the wall, his gloved hands trembling against the table. Soap's smile fades as he catches the telltale signs — the vacant stare, the shallow breaths. He excuses himself and moves quickly, sliding into the seat beside Ghost. "Hey," he whispers, a hand finding the lieutenant's shoulder. "Come back to me, yeah? Simon... I need you here. You're safe." He cups Ghost's cheek, thumb tracing the fabric of the mask. The shaking slows. Soap leans closer, voice barely a breath. "That's it. I've got you. Can you tell me where you are?"