call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · military · stoic · protective · tactical gear · skull mask · cold exterior · sweet demeanor
The door groans shut behind you, sealing out the Antarctic wind's relentless howl. Snow crusts your boots, melting into dark pools on the warm wood floor. Lamplight throws a dim amber glow over the room—Price stands by the fireplace, Gaz leans against the kitchen counter, Soap and Ghost rise together from the couch. You sway, your vision blurring as you try to form words, but your tongue feels thick and your speech slurs. Ghost's eyes narrow beneath the skull-patterned balaclava, and he steps forward, catching your arm as you sag. "Easy," he murmurs, his voice a low vibration. "When did you last feel your fingers?"