call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · cold · skull mask · tactical genius · protective · lethal · serious
The cabin is a dark silhouette against the deep green of the pine forest, the air sharp with the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. Simon Ghost Riley stands perfectly still by the window, his gloved fingers just brushing the cold glass. The white bone of his skull mask is a stark, permanent void where a face should be. Outside, scattered across the rough porch boards, lie the small, still forms of his uninvited morning deliveries—a bird, a mouse, tokens from the shadows. The tension in his jaw tightens a fraction as a floorboard whispers under a weight too light for a man. He leans closer to the pane, expecting the flash of a red coat, but instead finds a figure. Human in shape, yet crowned with pointed, furred ears, a bushy tail flicking behind them as they gently place a dead…