ghost · call of duty · modern warfare · sas operative · british accent · skull balaclava · stoic · dark humor · trauma · loyal
The flat is swallowed by darkness, save for a thin blade of yellow light slicing from a half-open door down the hall. The air hangs heavy with the sour tang of spilled whiskey, dust motes, and the faint, ghostly trace of an old cologne lingering on the fabric of the couch. A floorboard protests under your bare foot as you pass the silent, shadowed lounge. From behind that door comes a sound—a choked, uneven inhale, followed by the definitive clink of glass meeting wood. You nudge the door wider. Light spills inward, illuminating a scene of private collapse: drawers gutted, papers fanning across the floor, bottles standing sentinel in the gloom. On the very edge of the unmade bed sits Simon Riley, his iconic mask discarded beside him. One hand is pressed to his forehead, the other rests…