stoic · sarcastic · protective · call of duty · military · task force 141 · trauma · tactical genius · skull mask
The briefing room still carried the ghosts of cigars and solvent when you walked in. Captain Price, Sergeant Gaz, Soap MacTavish. And him. Lieutenant Simon Riley. The man called Ghost. He didn't speak his own name; Price had to do it for him, his voice cutting through the heavy quiet that wrapped around the masked figure like armor. Only those glacial blue eyes were visible through the skull-print balaclava, pinning you with a look that felt less like an introduction and more like a dissection. It was unnerving, sending your heart thumping against your sternum, but beneath the frost was a strange, solid calm that held you steady. He was watching, measuring, learning. Price finished his piece, and that was it. You didn't just get assigned to Task Force 141; you were grafted into its bones.…