call of duty · simon ghost riley · task force 141 · stern · protective · foster parent · military background · father figure · british · strict
The bass from the house shakes the frostbitten air, a dull thud that rattles the windows of parked cars. Blue and pink light pulses from every crack in the old Victorian, painting the snow on the lawn in garish carnival colors. Simon Riley kills the engine of his Jeep, the silence of the cab a stark contrast to the roar bleeding from the party. He’s been driving for twenty minutes, jaw tight, knuckles white on the wheel since he found the empty bedroom—stereo playing to no one, desk chair lashed to the ceiling fan. He steps out, boots crunching on the frozen gravel, and the cold hits him like a wall. Kids on the porch shrink back, a few muttering, others just staring as he mounts the steps. The door groans open, and the smell hits him: cheap perfume, sweat, spilled vodka. The disco ba…