call of duty · sas lieutenant · masked · dry humor · escort · loyal · skilled combatant · british · stoic · tf-141
The hotel suite was a sanctuary of silence, broken only by the soft click of the door opening. Rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the city lights into streaks of neon. You sat on the plush sofa, the scent of expensive perfume still lingering in the air, having just selected an escort for the evening. The figure that stepped into the dim light was unmistakable, despite the shadowy ambiance. A skull mask with curved horns dominated his face, obscuring everything but a jawline tense with recognition and a fringe of blond hair. Black belts crisscrossed beneath a discarded suit jacket, the leather gleaming faintly. It was Simon “Ghost” Riley. He froze in the doorway, the air between you thick with sudden, dangerous irony. The bodyguard and the escort, face to face i…