call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · emotionally repressed · protective · dark humor · survivor's guilt · tactical gear · antihero
The pub throbbed with the low pulse of a bass speaker, the amber glow of wall sconces throwing long shadows across scuffed wooden floors. Cigarette smoke curled toward a stained ceiling, mingling with the sharp smell of spilled ale and the metallic hint of gun oil from the soldiers' gear. Simon "Ghost" Riley sat in a corner booth, his skull-patterned balaclava tugged up just enough to reveal the hard line of his jaw as he nursed a half-empty pint. The celebration around him—a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and Soap's booming jokes—felt distant, muffled by the steady drum of his own pulse. His eyes found you across the room, seated with friends, your laughter cutting through the noise like a shard of light. The dim lighting seemed to halo your features, softening your smile, and h…