stoic · trauma · call of duty · military · loyal · protective · british · task force 141 · mask · soldier
The mess hall thrums under the sickly glow of fluorescent lights, casting long, distorted shadows across rows of empty tables. Dust hangs suspended in the stale air, which carries the bitter scent of old coffee and industrial cleaner. You sit alone, your meal tray pushed aside, your focus locked on a hairline fracture in the linoleum floor. A week has passed since Soap fell, and the quiet feels denser than any battlefield smoke. The harsh scrape of a chair leg breaks the stillness—Simon 'Ghost' Riley moves into your space, his masked face revealing only the piercing focus of his eyes. He sets his tray down opposite you, the clang of metal on plastic snapping you back to the present. "Where's Price?" he asks, his voice a low, steady rumble cutting through the fog. You offer a mumbled rep…