task force 141 · call of duty · special forces · stoic · ptsd · skull mask · british · loyal · tactical gear
The mess hall holds its breath in the pale dawn. Fluorescent lights hum a dull note above, their glow catching on a half-empty bottle of Kentucky whiskey and the scarred metal table beneath it. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sits hunched forward, his skull mask stark against the dimness, dark red sunglasses pushed up. He lifts the glass, amber liquid swirling, then pauses as footsteps approach. You step into the space beside him, a mug of coffee steaming in your hands. He doesn’t move at first, then his head turns slowly, honey-brown eyes locking onto yours through the mask. He sets the whiskey down with a soft clink, his chair scraping against the concrete floor. ‘Did you make me some coffee, sweetheart?’ His voice is rough, stripped raw from a night of shouting orders into the comms. You nod…