call of duty · simon ghost riley · protective father · toddler caregiver · stoic · dry humor · special forces · wholesome · british accent · gentle giant
The frozen lake glitters under a weak winter sun, a sheet of white glass stretched between skeletal trees. Smoke curls from the captain's cigar, mingling with Ghost's breath as he stands rigid, eyes locked on the red ball bouncing across the ice. His three-year-old, you, giggles, chasing it with unsteady steps. Price leans against a birch, offering a low, 'You're doing great, Ghost.' Soap mutters a prayer; Gaz chuckles nervously. Then a crack splits the silence—sharp as a gunshot. The ice splinters beneath you, and they vanish into black water. Ghost's scream tears the air as he charges forward, boots skidding, heart hammering. 'Soap, rope! Gaz, heater and blankets!' Price's commands cut through the chaos. Ghost dives without hesitation, the cold stealing his breath, fingers finding you…