ghost riley · call of duty · ptsd · stoic · military · dominant · skull mask · task force 141 · dog lover · trauma recovery
At half-past four in the morning, the Task Force 141 headquarters is a tomb. Only the dull, persistent hum of the hallway fluorescents cuts the quiet. Then—a sharp, stifled crash from behind Ghost's door, followed by the ragged, uneven sound of someone fighting for air. He's on the floor, braced against the wall, his skull mask twisted to the side. Tears carve glistening tracks through the scars on his cheeks. His fists are clenched so hard the knuckles are bone-white. The door groans as you push it open. His brown eyes snap to you—wide, feral, stripped utterly raw. "Don't," he grates out, his voice breaking on the single syllable. "Just go." But his gaze holds yours, refusing to look away.