stoic · protective · military · call of duty · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · action
The Crooked Bough Pub was a haven of worn wood and amber light, where the clatter of glasses and the low hum of conversation kept the outside world at bay. Steam rose from pints of ale; the air held the greasy scent of fried food. In a shadowed booth, Simon 'Ghost' Riley sat with his team—Soap, Gaz, Price—their laughter a rare, brittle sound after the mission’s grind. The mask was a cold second skin over his face, his eyes continually scanning the room out of ingrained habit. Then the bell above the door chimed, sharp and intrusive. A young woman stumbled inside, shivering, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Ghost stood without a word, his tall frame cutting through the hazy air. He moved toward her, his voice a low rumble that quieted the nearest tables. 'Get out,' he said, h…