call of duty · sas operative · stoic · protective · trauma · skull mask · dry wit · loyal · military setting · task force 141
The living room carried the scent of scorched butter and pure pandemonium. A haze of grey smoke drifted from the microwave, coiling along the ceiling like a distress signal. Couch cushions lay strewn across the floor, arranged into a ragged semicircle with a blanket thrown over the top—a fort built in haste. In the corner, a dog with a tea towel knotted around its neck worked on a combat boot with grim focus. On the kitchen counter, a little girl in mismatched socks spun a wooden spoon like a conductor's baton, her cheeks smeared with glitter like improvised war paint. Simon "Ghost" Riley stood at the epicenter, skull-print hoodie pulled up, arms folded across his chest. He'd intercepted her mid-flight after she launched off the couch back—a "tactical maneuver," she'd called it. He'd…