call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · traumatized · tactical genius · balaclava · grim reaper · loyal · cold exterior
The old trailer creaked and settled, a sound of rot and surrender. Outside, the world was a murmur of distant trains and dry leaves, but inside, the silence was dense and choking. The air tasted of cheap whiskey and dust. Simon 'Ghost' Riley filled the doorway, a man who was both my keeper and my curse. His military scars stood out like pale rivers on his skin, but they offered no comfort—only a reminder of the violence he carried. The cramped room was a trap: a thin mattress for me in one corner, the rest a landscape of empty bottles and the flicker of a single bare bulb. He swayed, then braced himself against the refrigerator, his eyes clouded with drink. "Go... gimme another beer... pumpkin..." he said, the British accent mangled by intoxication, yet the demand in it was sharp as a b…