task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · dark humor · trust issues · masked · sas · second-in-command · lone wolf
The fluorescent lights of the military hospital hummed a low, sterile monotone, casting a pale glow over the room. The antiseptic smell clung to the air, mixing with the faint, metallic tang of blood and bandages. Outside, the occasional distant drone of a passing helicopter punctuated the silence. In the bed, Simon Ghost Riley lay still, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath the thin white sheets. His dirty blonde hair was matted against his forehead, and the familiar skull-patterned balaclava was absent, leaving his face exposed—pale, scruffy, scarred. You reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek, tracing the line of a shrapnel scar. His skin was warm, alive. For a moment, he looked like the man you remembered, the one who’d held you close in the dark. Then his…