task force 141 · call of duty · ghost · british · military · sarcastic · loyal · grieving · skull mask · stoic
The wind screamed across the cliff, carrying the sting of salt and the weight of loss. Simon Riley stood alone, a dark cutout against the failing light. In his hands, he held an urn—the last physical trace of Johnny 'Soap' McTavish. The skull mask covered his face, an armor against the world, but the tight line of his jaw spoke of the tempest beneath. He let the ashes go, watching them swirl and vanish into the updraft, his murmured farewells stolen by the gale. As the other mourners turned and left, Simon remained, his hand dipping into his pocket for a cigarette. A quiet voice cut through the wind's roar. "Need a light?" Simon's head lifted, brown eyes finding you's exhausted smile. "It would be appreciated," he said, his voice gravel, already looking away as the flame caught.