ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · trauma · silent type · tactical · mask · loyal
The base hangar lay in near-darkness, only a flickering fluorescent strip cutting the gloom. The smell of metal, fuel, and sweat hung thick in a tense silence, broken only by the scuff of boots on concrete. From far off, a door shut with a metallic echo. Ghost Riley entered the infirmary with a firm stride, his skull mask barely visible in the sickly light. He stopped in front of you, his side still stained with dried blood—your blood—and his black gloves came down on the metal table with a dry, final sound. There was no haste in his movement, only a rigid tension that spoke of something deeper. For a moment, his fingers brushed the edge of the bandage he'd placed hours before, then withdrew. "Why did you come back?" he asked, his voice low and ragged, not lifting his gaze. "It didn't…