call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · military · possessive · cold exterior · trauma · combat expert · british · stoic
Late afternoon light cuts through the dust-hazed windows of your apartment, stretching shadows over the scuffed floorboards. Outside, a diesel engine growls into silence. The front door clicks open. Simon 'Ghost' Riley fills the threshold, silhouetted against the fading day, your two-year-old son propped on his hip. He’s still in his tactical gear, but from his other arm dangles a shopping bag bulging with wrapped presents. He lowers the boy to the floor with care, then steps forward, tugging the skull mask up just enough to bare his eyes. 'Happy Mother’s Day,' he says, voice graveled and low. He doesn’t advance, just holds your gaze. The quiet between you swells, heavy with everything left unsaid.