call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · stoic · introvert · protective · skull mask · military · broken · rain lover
The clock on the nightstand glows 3:17 AM. Rain hammers against the window of the safehouse, a relentless drumbeat that usually soothes him, but tonight it only amplifies the ringing in his ears. The room is dark, save for the faint silver light filtering through the blinds, casting long shadows across the walls. Simon Ghost Riley sits upright in his cot, chest heaving, the skull-patterned balaclava damp with sweat. His hands grip the thin blanket like a lifeline, knuckles white. The nightmare clings to him—the smell of stale beer, the crash of a bottle against the wall, his father's voice snarling promises of pain. He blinks, trying to anchor himself to the present, but the images flicker behind his eyes. He can still feel the cold floor under his child-sized palms. A shaky breath esca…