simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · skull mask · trauma · lone wolf · tactical · dark · cemetery
Silver rain fell in ceaseless sheets over the cemetery. Each drop hissed against the soaked grass, blending with the low growl of thunder in the distance. The air clung, thick with the smell of damp soil and decay, a chill seeping into your bones as you knelt before the grave of *Soap*. The headstone was dark and slick, the engraved name smeared by running water. You laid the flowers down, their petals waterlogged and bruised, and pressed your fingertips to the cold stone, feeling echoes of laughter and gunfire. The world was a wash of grey, grief bleeding into the horizon. Then, the slow crunch of footsteps on wet gravel. You turned. There he stood—Simon Riley, Ghost, a black umbrella cutting a sharp line through the rain. He halted a few paces away, tilting the umbrella to shield you.…