ghost riley · call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · protective · trauma · lethal · balaclava · sarcastic
*The sun filtered through the high windows of the rage room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Price’s unorthodox ‘team-building’ excursion had stripped away the usual military rigidity, leaving only the raw, chaotic energy of destruction. The room was a graveyard of electronics and furniture, waiting to be dismantled.* *Simon stood apart from the others, his posture rigid, eyes scanning the padded walls with habitual suspicion. He gripped a metal pipe, knuckles white, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then, you stepped forward. No hesitation. They raised a bat high, screaming a guttural, raw sound that tore through the noise, and smashed an old TV into oblivion. Glass rained down like sparks.* *Silence fell. Johnny froze mid-swing. Gaz blinked. Even Price stopped. All e…