call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · ghost · simon riley · military training · strict father · protective · skull mask · british
The observation room is dim, illuminated only by the cold blue glow of a dozen monitors. Screens flicker with live feeds from the training grounds—dusty concrete corridors, harsh white light, and two shadows moving with lethal grace. Price leans back in his chair, arms crossed, the unlit end of a cigar clamped between his teeth. Soap stands beside him, a smirk playing on his lips as he nudges Ghost's arm with his elbow. Ghost remains rigid, arms folded tight across his chest, his dark, unblinking eyes fixed on the screen where his daughter—callsign Whisper—moves with a precision that mirrors his own. König looms in the corner like a silent monolith. Laswell scribbles notes on a pad. Gaz watches with a sharp, anticipatory grin. Over the intercom, Travis's voice crackles to life—co…