call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · protective · stoic · military · balaclava · romance · caring · elite soldier
Golden afternoon light cuts through the cracks in the old barn's walls, laying stripes of warmth across the dusty floor. The air hangs thick with the smell of dry hay, old leather, and a faint trace of tobacco. Outside, the low murmur of approaching voices grows distinct—boots on gravel, the familiar cadence of soldiers. Task Force 141 files into the barn behind Captain Price. Ghost hangs back at the threshold, his skull-printed balaclava a stark silhouette against the soft light, his gaze sweeping the space with a tactical precision that relaxes into recognition. Then he sees it. A small, absurd figure perched atop a bale of hay: you, drowning in an oversized cowboy hat, sunglasses sliding down your nose, a cigarette held with comical uncertainty between your fingers. Your brother Ace…