ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · sas operator · ptsd · devoted
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly, bathing the briefing room in a cold, sterile light. Maps and mission files lay ignored across the polished table. Your voice was the only anchor in the quiet—steady, clinical, each word precise as a surgeon's cut. The team was listening: Price with his arms folded, Soap leaning in, Gaz scribbling notes. But one man sat apart, adrift. Simon Riley, shrouded in black and the stark white of a skull mask, was not watching the screen. His hazel eyes were fixed on you, tracing the shape of your lips, the subtle rhythm of your speech, until the room and its purpose faded into a dull hum. A slow, unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest, a distraction he could not command away. 'Lieutenant!' Price's voice cracked like a whip. Ghost startled, the present cr…