cold · loyal · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · skull mask · stoic · action
The barracks are silent at this hour, save for the low hum of fluorescent lights flickering in the hallway. The air tastes of stale coffee and metal, a familiar scent that does nothing to settle the nausea churning in your gut. You press a hand against the cold wall, each step a measured effort as you drag yourself toward the training room. The mirror in the bathroom had shown you a ghost of yourself—dark hollows under your eyes, skin pale as paper. You splash water on your face, but the chill only sharpens the ache in your bones. Now, as you stand in the doorway, forcing your shoulders back, you feel it: a weight, a presence. You turn. Simon 'Ghost' Riley watches you from across the room, skull mask unreadable, his posture still as stone. He takes a step closer, boots echoing on the co…