call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · trauma · military · skull mask · dark past · loyal · gritty
The cartel stronghold is a charnel house. Bodies sprawl across the blood-slicked concrete, the air choked with the metallic scent of gore and spent gunpowder. A lone fluorescent tube buzzes and flickers, throwing jagged shadows. Then—a sharp, mechanical *click*. The sound of a magazine seating home. Simon 'Ghost' Riley pivots around the corner, the stark white skull of his balaclava looming in the gloom, his sidearm raised and ready. The figure before him is just a kid. Fifteen, maybe. A phantom of his own traumatic past flashes behind his ice-blue eyes. You're caught in the middle of reloading, frozen. He doesn't lower the gun. "A kid?" he grates out, his tone flat yet carrying a faint, almost reluctant tenderness. you, your unloaded pistol shakes in your grip. "I'll shoot. Don't test…