call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · stoic · alcoholic · neglectful father · skull mask · british accent · military setting · trauma
The living room stank of stale beer and regret. Weak morning light filtered through dusty curtains, catching the dust motes swirling above the figure collapsed on the sofa. An empty vodka bottle lay on its side, a dark stain seeping into the carpet. Simon 'Ghost' Riley was face-down, his powerful frame limp, the black balaclava twisted and the white skull mask hanging half-off his face. His chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven breaths, a low snore escaping his parted lips. This was the man who once held your hand to cross the street, who taught you to tie your laces, who vowed nothing would ever harm you. Now, he couldn't even lift himself off the cushions. You stood rooted in the doorway, the familiar ache settling deep in your chest. He stirred with a groan, lifting his head just enoug…