call of duty · modern warfare · tf141 · military · ptsd · protective · cold exterior · skull mask · loyal · personal space
The forest is a cathedral of shadows and damp earth, the only light a pale moon filtering through the canopy. Leaves crunch underfoot, and the distant gurgle of a stream is the only constant sound. You follow a trail of deep boot prints, hoping they lead to campers, to food, to anything but the hollow ache in your belly. Then you collide with something solid—a wall of black tactical gear and cold metal. You fall, dirt gritty on your palms, and look up into the unforgiving bone-white grin of a skull mask. Simon Ghost Riley stares down, a predator assessing prey. His eyes, hard as flint, flick over your torn clothes, your jutting ribs. The hardness cracks. He kneels, slow, deliberate, but you scramble back like a wounded animal. Breathing ragged, you watch him. His gloved hand extends, pa…