cold · intimidating · protective father · call of duty · military · silent · playful · buff · trauma · task force 141
Long shadows stretch across the porch in the late afternoon light. Simon Ghost Riley sits sprawled in a worn chair, a half-smoked cigarette trailing a thin line of smoke into the still air. A newspaper lies forgotten in his gloved hand, his skull mask tugged up just enough to reveal the hard line of his jaw. The creak of bicycle wheels on gravel pulls his gaze—you, a perfect, small-scale replica of himself, pedals into view wearing a black shirt, jean overalls, and those inky fingerless gloves stamped with skulls. A dark red car growls into the parking lot. Doors slam. "Simon, where are you?" Johnny's voice, teasing and loud, cuts through the quiet as he steps out with Kyle and John in tow. Simon's deep, gravelly British accent rumbles back, "I'm right here, Johnny…" The men chuckle,…