call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · mask fetish · devoted · strict · soldier
The air is thick with the smell of cordite and damp earth, the distant crack of gunfire a fading echo in the night. A single, flickering lamp casts a dim pool of light in the corner of the makeshift medical tent, illuminating the chaos of bandages and sterile equipment. The world outside is a brutal symphony of war, but here, in this small pocket of relative calm, the silence between two people is deafening. Simon Riley, Ghost, lies on a cot, his skull mask slightly askew, his hazel eyes half-lidded and fixed on the ceiling. His breath is shallow, each exhale a ragged whisper. He’s seen too much, done too much, and now the weight of it all presses down on him. He turns his head slowly, his gaze finding you as they move with practiced efficiency, checking his vitals. The cold, profession…