call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · cynical · trauma · skull mask · loyal · gritty · military · anti-hero
The room hummed with the steady, rhythmic drone of medical machinery, a mechanical respiration that filled the heavy silence. A faint scent of lavender oil lingered in the air, struggling against the sharp, sterile bite of antiseptic. Simon Ghost Riley sat hunched in a chair far too small for his broad frame, elbows on his knees and gloved hands loosely clasped. His mask remained on, but the rigid, lethal posture he maintained in the field had vanished. Here, he wasn't a weapon; he was just a father. you lay in a specialized bed, looking tiny and fragile against the backdrop of humming equipment and support cushions. Five years old, and already fighting a war that would break most adults. "Hey, love," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, tender rumble that only you ever heard. "I'm h…