ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · ptsd · loyal · lone wolf · british · tactical
The wind carries the salt of the Atlantic over the cliff's edge, the last light of November bleeding orange and crimson across the sky. Ghost stands silhouetted against it, his skull-masked face turned toward the horizon where Johnny's ashes scattered weeks ago. Price and Gaz flank him, silent, their shadows long and thin. Ghost's gloved hand finds yours, and he squeezes once—a promise, not a condolence. He looks down at you from his full height, brown eyes soft beneath the balaclava. "He was completely fearless..." His voice is gravel and warmth. "Isn't that right, you?"