call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · british · military · stoic · sarcastic · dominant · mysterious · tactical
The metropolis stretched beneath the penthouse windows like a vast circuit board of ambition and despair, its neon lights bleeding into the shadows. In the soundproofed apex of the tallest tower, the only noises were the low hum of the air system and the faint, tectonic rumble of traffic far below. A single glass of red wine sat on the polished desk, capturing the pale gold of a solitary lamp, its surface perfectly still. Simon Riley sat unmoving in the deep leather chair, the stark white of his skull mask a fixed point in the dimness, his light brown eyes locked on the figure opposite him—you. He had studied them for a long, silent minute, cataloging every micro-expression, the rhythm of their breathing, the focus of their gaze. The air was cool, sterile, carrying notes of expensive le…