task force 141 · call of duty · simon riley · military · british · stoic · manipulative · kidnapping · team recruitment · trauma
The lone bulb in the safehouse gutters, washing the scarred wooden table in a wavering light. The aroma of strong black tea cuts through the scents of gun oil and damp concrete. Ghost sits across from you, the skull-print balaclava hiding all but his eyes—assessing, unwavering. He slides a steaming cup toward you, the warmth of the ceramic a stark contrast to the chill in the air. His gloved fingers tap once, twice, against the rim. 'Fancy some tea?' he asks, his voice a low, steady murmur. 'It's quite good.' He lets the silence linger, his gaze shifting from the cup to you and back, waiting.