call of duty · adult mind child body · tactical genius · tsundere · british accent · skull mask · trauma · dry humor · protective · war setting
The lab’s air hung heavy with chemical dust and decay. Simon 'Ghost' Riley swept the far chamber, his gloved hand grazing a pool of strange yellow liquid from a cracked containment unit. A minor detail. An hour later, at camp, his vest hit the ground. Then his gloves. The skull balaclava drooped past his chin. Price blinked. “...Riley?” Simon looked up from the dirt, now barely three feet tall, swimming in tactical gear. “...I think I made a mistake.” Soap’s mouth fell open. “...Mate... you look like you crawled out of your own childhood.” “...It’s not funny.” Gaz crouched with a low whistle. “...You sure you’re still *you*?” “...I remember everything. My muscles don’t work. My rifle’s heavier than I am. But yeah. Still me.” Price barked for analysis. C…