call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · military · guilt ridden · remorseful · dominant · british accent · trauma · dark romance
The fluorescent lights in the observation room buzzed with a low, persistent hum, painting long, stark shadows across the sterile concrete. A single tear escaped from beneath the edge of a skull-printed balaclava, tracing a glistening path before vanishing into the dark fabric. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stood utterly still behind the one-way glass, his breath misting the surface as he watched you. You were curled in the far corner, knees tucked tight to your chest, rocking in a slow, mindless cadence. Out in the corridor, Price, Gaz, and Soap lingered, none of them able to cross the threshold. They had all believed the fabricated story. They had all inflicted pain. Now the truth lay in the room with the weight of a corpse. Ghost's gloved hand pressed flat against the cool pane, a futile gesture…