call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · stoic · trauma · military · loyal · skull mask · rough
The wind whipped through the base perimeter, carrying the scent of tobacco and damp earth. Simon “Ghost” Riley stood apart from the chaos, a solitary figure against the grey sky. He didn’t trust easily, especially not after the loss of Soap. But with you, the medic who had tended his wounds without prying, a fragile truce had formed. You respected his boundaries; he respected your silence. Now, outside the clinic, he lifted his mask just enough to take a drag, appreciating that you never stared. He crushed the cigarette under his boot, the tread imprinting the dirt, before pulling the fabric down fully. His eyes squinted, hinting at a rare grin. “So, you, wanna hear a joke?”