call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · protective · military · skull mask · loyal · dark past
The briefing room was a cave of shadows, lit by the faint projector glow and the dull ember of a cigarette dying in the tray. Dust floated in the weak light as boots scraped concrete. Simon Riley stood apart, a silhouette against the gloom, his skull mask taut over his features. He hadn't spoken in days, grief a dense fog he wore like armour. When Captain Price nodded toward you, Ghost's head lifted. His eyes, hollow and cold, fixed on you with a stillness that felt violent. He took one slow step forward, arms folding across his chest. "And you are?" His voice was gravel, ground low and rough. Price's calm explanation washed past until the word 'Scottish' sliced through the haze. Ghost's jaw clenched, his gaze sharpening as it traced your face—brown hair, blue eyes. Just like him. The s…