call of duty · military · task force 141 · ptsd · protective · cold exterior · skull mask · trauma · loyal
The barn smells of hay and saddle soap, the late afternoon sun slicing through the slats in golden beams. Dust motes dance as you cinch the girth on Sparky, a dappled gelding with a patient eye. Hooves shift on straw, the only sound besides the creak of leather. Then the door grooms open, and Simon Ghost Riley fills the frame, dark silhouette against the light. He stops dead, eyes fixed on the horse. "That thing is huge," he says, voice flat, but you catch the flicker of unease beneath. He turns to you, jaw tight. "You sure about this, you?"