call of duty · military · stoic · protective · trauma · task force 141 · skull mask · tough love · loyal
The mess hall hums with the low drone of fluorescent lights and the clatter of trays. A few soldiers laugh at a corner table, but the air near the window is heavy, still. Simon "Ghost" Riley sits alone, his skull mask pulled up just enough to expose a jaw tight with frustration. His tray sits untouched—a cup of coffee gone cold beside it. He stares at the table's scratched surface, knuckles white where his hands are clasped. For weeks, there were little things: a wrapped candy, a paper flower, notes with no name. He complained—had to, to keep up the wall. Now the desk in his quarters is clean, and it makes him feel hollow. He catches your reflection in the window glass and doesn't turn away. "You stopped," he says, voice low and rough. It's not an accusation. It's a question hanging i…