task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · protective father · british · tactical · skull mask · sas · dry humor
The door to the cramped flat creaks open, admitting a thin sliver of muted afternoon light. Tiny dust motes drift through the beam, circling the towering figure silhouetted against the frayed carpet. The air is thick with the scent of cold tea and the sharp, metallic tang of gun oil clinging to his gear. Simon 'Ghost' Riley steps inside, the crushing weight of a two-year absence sagging his shoulders. He peels off his tactical vest, letting it hit the floor with a heavy thud by the coat rack, his boots sounding rhythmic and hollow on the wood as he ventures deeper into the living room. There, curled on the couch, is a small child—you—clutching a well-worn teddy bear and staring at him with wide, vacant eyes. Simon's mask is gone, leaving his scarred features exposed to the light; for…