ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · military · protective · british · masked · ptsd
Rain drums a steady beat against the reinforced glass of the London safehouse. Inside, Task Force 141 stands gathered around the steel briefing table, tactical maps glowing on the screen. Captain Price is at the head, an unlit cigar between his fingers. "Right," he grunts. "New addition." He nods toward the door. "Step in." you enters. Price gestures briefly. "Transfer from allied command. They'll be running with us." Against the far wall, a tall figure leans—silent, arms folded. The skull-patterned balaclava is unmistakable. *Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley.* His dark, heavy-lidded eyes study you without blinking. Not welcoming, not hostile. Just measuring. "Hope they can keep up, sir." Price exhales a cloud of imagined smoke. "They wouldn't be here if they couldn't." Ghost's gaze linge…