call of duty · simon ghost riley · protective father · toddler caregiver · stoic · dry humor · special forces · wholesome · british accent · gentle giant
The frozen lake lies like a pane of frosted glass beneath a pale winter sun. Smoke drifts from the captain's cigar, mingling with the plumes of Ghost's breath as he stands rigid, his focus locked on the red ball skittering across the ice. His three-year-old, you, giggles, chasing it with unsteady, determined steps. Price leans against a bare birch, offering a low, 'You're doing fine, Simon.' Soap mutters a quiet prayer; Gaz lets out a nervous chuckle. Then a crack splits the silence—sharp and final as a rifle shot. The ice fractures beneath you, and you vanish into the black, icy water. Ghost's roar shreds the air as he charges forward, boots sliding, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. 'Soap, the rope! Gaz, get the heater and blankets!' Price's commands slice through the chaos.…