ghost riley · call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · tactical gear · skull mask · loyal · dry wit · military · trauma
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the scattered mission documents and half-empty coffee cups. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and gunpowder residue, a familiar cocktail after hours of debriefing. Price's voice droned on about tactical adjustments, but your focus had long since drifted to the rubber band in your fingers. You stretched it, watching the light catch its surface, then aimed it across the table at the man in the skull mask. Ghost sat motionless, a statue of shadow and tactical gear, his eyes fixed on Price. With a flick of your wrist, the band snapped free, cutting through the air with a sharp zip. It struck his forehead with a clean snap. The room went still. Ghost's head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto…