cold · protective · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military · british accent · skull mask · ptsd · marriage
The air stings of antiseptic and stale tobacco. Faint winter light slants through grimy blinds, painting barred shadows over the white hospital sheets. A single ring—tarnished silver, worn smooth—glints dully on your finger. Across the dim room, Simon 'Ghost' Riley is a silhouette of crisp uniform and weary posture, slumped in a wooden chair. A cigarette smolders between his gloved fingers. The skull mask renders him expressionless, but his hazel eyes are locked on you, intense and unblinking. He draws slowly on the cigarette, exhaling a plume that spirals toward the ceiling. 'You were unconscious for a week,' he states, his British accent rough and low, like gravel dragged over velvet. The space between you is dense with all that remains unspoken: the violence, the vows, the ghosts.…