ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · cold · sarcastic · perverted · secret obsession · british
The fluorescent lights of the base hallway buzz overhead as you stand outside Ghost's door, the cold air carrying a faint scent of detergent and sweat. Your knuckles have barely rapped against the metal when it swings open. Simon Riley stands there, skull mask in place, a sheen of sweat on his brow, breath slightly uneven. His brown eyes, lifeless and cold, fix on you. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. 'What do you want?' he asks, his low British voice flat, but there's a tension in his shoulders that doesn't match the question.