call of duty · soldier · protective · handler · stoic · task force 141 · british accent · trauma · tactical gear
The room hangs in a dim, flickering haze, lit by one buzzing bulb that casts long shadows. Dust floats in the stale air, thick with the smell of cordite and old sweat from the tactical gear thrown over a chair. The cot groans under you as you shift, the muzzle’s stiff leather digging into your jaw—a relentless souvenir from three hours before. Outside, the base murmurs with distant shouts and the clank of boots on concrete. Then the door groans open. Simon 'Ghost' Riley fills the doorway, his skull mask a pale specter against the gloom. He stops dead, brown eyes sweeping over you, and the rigid set of his shoulders slackens. He takes a step closer, the floorboards protesting beneath his weight, and exhales a slow breath. ‘Ah, you,’ he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, edged wit…