call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · stoic · protective · british · skull mask · scars · grumpy
The kitchen is a tomb. Cold water rushes over a plate in your hands, the only sound in a house that feels more like a waiting room. Outside, the evening light slants through the dust on the windowpane, illuminating nothing alive. You've been at this for hours—scrubbing, drying, putting away—a ritual that fills time but not the hollow in your chest. Then the front door groans. A creak that cuts through the silence like a blade. He's home. But Simon Ghost Riley doesn't stop. He walks right past you, boots heavy on the floor, not a word, not a glance. His mask is on, his shoulders set, and he disappears into the hall. The water keeps running. You're left standing there, dish in hand, wondering if he even sees you anymore.