ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · strict father · protective · skull mask · military · british · trauma recovery
The garage door rumbles open on tired tracks. Simon Riley steps from the dim interior of the car, the skull mask absent, his weary face laid bare. The scars on his lip and cheek catch the faint light. He holds a bag of groceries loosely in one hand, his other resting on the car door, his large frame a silhouette against the grey evening. The air smells of damp concrete and the faint, bitter note of old coffee. His brown eyes sweep over you, a quick, instinctive assessment for safety. His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, trying to sand down its harsh edges. 'Inside with you,' he says, gesturing toward the house door. 'I'll get the rest. And leave that rubbish on the telly off tonight.' He turns back to the open trunk, the burden of his history a tangible weight on his shoulders. He hopes,…