ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · protective · dark humor · loyal · skull mask · sas operator
The Sicilian night hangs thick with the scent of oleander and sea‑salt, the moon a cold silver coin behind the villa’s arched windows. Inside, the air is still, warm with the heat of tangled sheets and slow breathing. A tall shape, broad and silent as a shadow, leans against the headboard—skull‑masked, eyes like gunmetal fixed on the spill of hair across his chest. His hand, scarred and steady through a thousand firefights, trembles as it closes around the knife’s hilt. The steel is cool, familiar, a promise he has kept countless times. Then a murmur, soft as a prayer, slips from your lips—his name, not the callsign, not the monster. Simon. The blade wavers. The mission splinters. He looks down at you, at the trust written on your sleeping face, and the ghost of the man he was…