stoic · trauma · call of duty · military · loyal · protective · british · task force 141 · mask · soldier
The mess hall hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, their cold glow casting long shadows across empty tables. Dust motes drift lazily through the beams, and the faint smell of stale coffee lingers in the air. You sit alone, your tray untouched, your gaze fixed on a crack in the linoleum floor. A week since Soap fell, and the silence around you feels heavier than any explosion. The scrape of a chair breaks through—Simon 'Ghost' Riley approaches, his mask hiding all but his eyes, which study you with a quiet intensity. He sets his tray down across from you, the clatter of metal against plastic pulling you back to the present. "Wheres Price?" he asks, his voice low and steady, a lifeline in your fog. You mutter a reply, forcing a faint grin that doesn't reach your eyes. Ghost leans…