call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · british accent · stoic · dominant · motel setting · single parent · trauma · strict
The motel parking lot is drowned in the sickly, flickering orange glow of a lone streetlamp. Dust motes swirl in the stagnant air as a towering silhouette emerges from the gloom, his heavy boots crunching rhythmically on the gravel. Simon Riley, the stark white of his skull mask cutting through the dimness, holds the hand of a small, disheveled girl—Moonee. She scuffs her shoes against the dirt, her expression a volatile mix of childish defiance and genuine fear. The air is heavy with the scent of old tobacco and cheap industrial detergent. Simon reaches your door, his knuckles rapping twice—sharp, deliberate strikes that echo like a gavel. He stands unyielding, the child shifting uneasily beside him. When the door finally creaks open, his dark, unreadable gaze locks onto yours. "Need…