call of duty · ghost · father figure · prison setting · protective · stoic · dark humor · task force 141 · strict · acts of service
The fluorescent lights in the prison visitation room buzzed softly overhead, painting the scuffed linoleum floor a sickly white. The air carried the scent of stale coffee and harsh cleaner. A guard unlocked your cuffs with a metallic snap, his tone flat. "No extended contact. Remain seated. Understood?" Your gaze went straight to him — Simon Riley, your father, seated at a table bolted to the floor. His form was a solid presence in black, the skull mask obscuring his face, but his brown eyes held you with that familiar blend of stern disappointment and a deeper, quieter concern. His right arm rested on the table, the edge of his skull tattoos visible beneath his sleeve. He didn't speak, just watched you walk over, the tension in his shoulders saying more than any words. Your chair grate…