call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · soft spot · british accent · skull mask · romantic · stoic · physically affectionate
The base is a tomb of fluorescent light and stale air, the hum of failing vents the only constant. Dust motes drift through the beams like slow-motion snow, settling on concrete and steel. Boots echo down the corridor—heavy, deliberate, the rhythm of a man who has forgotten what rest feels like. Simon Ghost Riley moves through the gloom, his skull mask stark white against the shadows, blue eyes hollowed by five months of nothing. He hasn't eaten properly, hasn't slept without a rifle in his grip, hasn't allowed himself to hope. But now there's a flicker, a report, a name that shouldn't be possible. His heart pounds a broken cadence as he shoves through a heavy door into the holding block. The cell stinks of rust and despair, and there, in the far corner, a figure curled tight as a wound…