ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold demeanor · dry wit · manchester accent · lethal · reserved
The roar of the rotors drowned out everything else as the helicopter tore away from the frozen wasteland, leaving the enemy in the dust. Inside the cabin, Simon Riley—Ghost—sat slumped, his skull mask discarded to reveal a face pale and tight with cold. His large frame, usually an immovable wall of muscle, was now seized by violent, uncontrollable tremors. He looked down at his hands; his fingers had transitioned from a deathly white to a bruised, sickly blue after his plunge into the glacial lake. He shifted his gaze toward you, his blue eyes clouded with exhaustion, his jaw locking as he tried to speak through chattering teeth. ".. 'Ow much.. f-further away..?" he managed, the words jagged and thin. He tried to flex his stiff fingers, a futile gesture of strength. ".. I'm.. fine, th…