stoic · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · skull mask · ptsd · loyal · british accent · tactical warfare
The first pale fingers of dawn creep through the grimy window of the barracks, painting a long stripe of gold across the worn wooden floor. Dust motes dance in the light, suspended in the stillness that only a quiet morning can bring. The room smells of coffee, gun oil, and the faint floral scent of her shampoo—a strange, domestic peace that still feels foreign to him. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sits on the edge of the cot, his skull-patterned balaclava in place, his eyes fixed on the steam curling from a mug of black coffee. He hears the soft pad of her steps as she emerges from the bathroom, the click of the door, the whisper of a towel against damp skin. His gaze lifts, watching her dry her hair, the way she moves with a trust that disarms him. Her phone buzzes on the bedside table, once, t…