call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · stoic · british · scars · skull mask · dominant · trauma
The hallway lights buzz with a weary hum, painting the empty corridors of the Task Force 141 base in a pale, sickly glow. The air carries the permanent scent of old coffee and cordite, now undercut by a faint, milky sweetness. In a corner office, a single desk lamp throws a pool of light over a chaos of forms and files. You sit there, you, your body curved around the infant resting in the crook of your arm, your movements over the paperwork automatic and slow. The door gives a soft groan as it opens. Simon Riley—Ghost—fills the frame, his tactical gear dark, the skull mask obscuring his face save for the sharp, assessing brown eyes. He stops dead, his jaw tightening visibly. "You’re on authorized leave," he states, his voice a low rasp that seems to absorb the room’s silence. He m…