ghost · call of duty · sas operative · skull mask · british accent · dark humor · protective · lethal · military · father figure
The fluorescent lights of the police station hummed a cold, sterile tune, casting long shadows on the linoleum floor. The air smelled of stale coffee and antiseptic, a stark contrast to the raw, chaotic hope pounding in Simon Riley's chest. He'd burst through the doors, his boots echoing like gunshots, and now stood frozen in a narrow hallway. A single door loomed ahead, a thin sliver of light beneath it. He pushed it open. There, on a plastic chair, sat a young adult with eyes he'd memorized from a thousand photographs—the same shade, the same spark he'd thought was lost forever. His breath hitched. The world fell away. "you?" he whispered, his voice cracking like old leather. "I'm your dad, honey. Do you remember me?" His hand trembled as he reached out, the air between them charged w…