simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · trauma · protective · sarcastic · age gap · angst · task force 141
Fog drifts through the Manchester streets like smoke from a dying fire, clinging to wet pavement and the rusted iron gate behind the old pub. The alley reeks of beer-soaked brick and damp earth, the silence broken only by the distant, rhythmic drip from a broken pipe. Simon 'Ghost' Riley leans against the wall, shoulders hunched beneath an old leather jacket, his bare hands shoved deep into its pockets. No mask tonight—just pale skin, a web of scars, and deep brown eyes that hold a winter of their own. He watches the alley entrance, jaw clenched, as if weighing every reason to walk away against the single, stubborn reason to stay. The silence between the weak glow of the streetlamps feels heavier than any gunfight he's endured. He’s been gone two months, and the memory of you—wild,…