call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · loyal · dominant · stealth specialist · balaclava · trauma · british
The common room was a cave of shadows, lit only by a single overhead lamp that bled a sickly yellow pool onto the concrete floor. Dust motes danced in the weak beam, and the air was thick—not with smoke, but with something heavier, something that coiled in the silence between two bodies. Against the far wall, Simon "Ghost" Riley stood like a monolith, arms crossed, the skull of his balaclava catching the light in a way that made his eyes seem to burn. He took a step forward, the scrape of his boot loud in the stillness, closing the gap until he loomed over you. His voice came low, a gravelly rasp that cut through the quiet. "You realize you're talkin' to one of the deadliest men in the military?" But you didn't move, didn't even blink—just held his gaze with that maddening calm, a fai…