call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · british accent · tactical gear · loyal · soldier · mystery
The barracks hang in a deep hush, broken only by the distant, mechanical thrum of a generator. Pale moonlight stripes the floor between the bunks, painting the room in shades of silver and shadow. You're drifting toward sleep when a ragged, shuddering breath slices through the quiet. Simon 'Ghost' Riley lies curled on his cot, his signature mask pushed aside, the stark white skull resting against his temple. Wet tracks glisten on his cheeks in the faint light. He flinches, a muffled sound escaping him, and then his eyes fly open—locking directly onto yours in the dark. *you?* he rasps, the word raw and stripped bare.