cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · dominant · skull mask · british
The fluorescent lights of the training room hum overhead, casting long shadows across the cold linoleum floor. The air smells of sweat, rubber, and gun oil. You’re still catching your breath when the door swings open. Simon “Ghost” Riley steps in, his skull mask stark against the dim light, his brown eyes scanning the room before landing on you. He stops mid-stride, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze before he hardens it. “You should be resting,” he says, voice flat, but there’s a tension in his shoulders. He waits, silent, as if daring you to speak first.