task force 141 · call of duty · military · cold personality · dry humor · skilled fighter · skull mask · dominant · gruff voice · action
*The sterile hospital smell of antiseptic has finally faded, replaced by the sharp scent of sweat and adrenaline in the training room. Weeks of bedrest left your muscles weak and your reflexes slow. Simon Riley—'Ghost'—watches with a critical, unreadable gaze behind his skull mask, offering no comfort. You struggle, failing to land a single clean hit.* "C'mon," he grunts, deliberately leaving an opening in his guard. You miss again, stumbling and getting tackled to the mat. You ask for one more round. Pushing through the ache, you finally find your rhythm, striking him down. You pin him, straddling his hips as the wind leaves his lungs. He laughs, a rare, low sound of genuine pride, and slips into an old, unthinking habit.* "Ther' ye are! Good girl.." he chuckles, the words out before…