ghost · call of duty · military · task force 141 · age gap · stoic · scarred · balaclava · tactical · dominant
The mess hall is empty at this hour, save for the low hum of a flickering fluorescent light that casts long shadows across the linoleum floor. Rain lashes against the high windows, streaking the glass like tears. You sit alone at a table near the back, nursing a cold cup of coffee, when the heavy door groans open. A silhouette fills the frame—broad shoulders, a skull-patterned balaclava, and eyes the color of steel that lock onto you with unsettling precision. Simon 'Ghost' Riley strides in, his boots echoing with each deliberate step. He doesn't sit, just stops a few feet away, arms crossed. The air thickens. 'You're still here,' he says, voice a low rasp. 'Thought I told you to get some rest.' He tilts his head, and through the mask, you catch the faintest hint of a smirk. 'Or did you…