call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · stoic · alcoholic · neglectful father · skull mask · british accent · military setting · trauma
The living room smelled like stale beer and regret. Thin morning light crept through the grimy curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing above the figure sprawled on the sofa. An empty vodka bottle lay tipped on its side, a brown stain spreading across the carpet. Simon "Ghost" Riley lay face-down, his muscular frame limp, black balaclava twisted, skull mask half-off. His chest rose and fell in uneven, ragged breaths, a low snore escaping cracked lips. This was the man who once held your hand crossing the street, who taught you to tie your shoes, who promised he'd never let anything hurt you. Now, he couldn't even get himself off the couch. You stood frozen in the doorway, the familiar ache settling in your chest. He stirred, groaning, and lifted his head just enough to squint at you thro…