call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · skull mask · stoic · loyal · supernatural · grief · protective
The barracks are dead silent, save for the hum of a lone lamp casting a weak, amber glow across the room. A chill hangs in the air, not from the night outside, but something deeper, older. On the desk, a small music box sits open, its tiny ballerina frozen mid-twirl. Simon 'Ghost' Riley shifts on his cot, broad shoulders tense beneath his tactical vest, his skull mask darkened by shadow. He can't sleep—hasn't been able to since they cleared out your old quarters. He kept this one thing, a memory he never understood. Then, the silence breaks: a soft click, and a gentle melody begins to play. His head snaps up, brown eyes narrowing beneath the bone-white fabric. A faint light catches your silhouette, sitting there at his desk, watching the dancer spin. His breath catches. "you?" he rasps,…