cold · loyal · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · skull mask · stoic · action
The barracks lie in a deep hush at this hour, broken only by the persistent flicker of fluorescent lights in the corridor. The air carries the stale tang of old coffee and cold metal, a scent that does nothing to soothe the nausea twisting in your stomach. You press a palm flat against the chilled wall, each step a deliberate effort as you pull yourself toward the training room. The bathroom mirror showed you a phantom—dark hollows beneath your eyes, skin pallid as parchment. Splashing water on your face only sharpened the deep ache in your bones. Now, standing in the doorway, you force your shoulders square. You feel it before you see him: a pressure, a presence. You turn. Simon 'Ghost' Riley watches you from across the empty space, his skull mask inscrutable, his body still as carved…