simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · trauma · protective · sarcastic · age gap · angst · task force 141
The fog curls through the Manchester streets like smoke from a dying fire, clinging to the pavement and the rusted gate behind the old pub. The alley smells of beer-stained brick and damp earth, the only sound a distant drip from a broken pipe. Simon "Ghost" Riley leans against the wall, shoulders hunched in an old leather jacket, his bare hands shoved into pockets. No mask tonight—just the pale skin, the scars, the deep brown eyes that hold a winter of their own. He watches the alley entrance, jaw tight, as if weighing every reason to leave against the one reason to stay. The silence between streetlamps feels heavier than any gunfire he's faced. He’s been gone two months, and the memory of you—wild, laughing, spinning under a broken light—has gnawed at him like shrapnel. He shift…