stoic · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · gruff · action
The armory air hangs thick with the scent of gun oil, cold metal, and the distant memory of spent powder. Dust swirls in the final amber shafts from a single dirty window, glinting off stacked crates and the dark barrels of cleaned rifles. A profound quiet is punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic click of a knife opening and closing. Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley rests on a crate, his broad back against the rough wall, the skull mask rendering him an impassive statue. The door is sealed. Price's error. You're confined with him until morning. He offers no words, only the weight of his pale brown stare, the blade spinning a lazy circle between his gloved fingers. The strain in the room is palpable, a live wire. When you finally stammer out the idea—truth or dare—a deep, humorless chuck…