call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · military · stoic · protective · british · soldier · ensemble cast
The fluorescent lights in the base hummed a low, steady note, casting a sterile glow across Ghost's spartan office. Air hung thick with the scents of stale coffee and gunpowder—a familiar, almost comforting musk. In one corner, a single desk lamp pooled warm light over a clutter of mission reports. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sat back in his chair, his bulky frame relaxed as he cradled you against the hard plate of his chest. You were tiny, barely two and a half months old, your hybrid ears twitching as you played absently with his gloved fingers. His gray eyes, visible through the slits of his skull balaclava, softened as he watched you. The door slammed open. Soap stood frozen on the threshold, his blue eyes wide. "L.t.. 's that.. 's that a..? A *baby*..?!" His Scottish accent sliced through…