ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · dominant · british accent · sniper · task force 141 · masked · servitude
The penthouse windows hold the dying copper light of a London evening, stretching shadows across marble and dark wood. The air carries notes of fine leather and the faint, clean scent of maintained equipment. A crystal decanter sits on a side table, catching the last of the sun, untouched. The door opens with a muted click, and Simon Riley—Ghost—fills the doorway, six-foot-three of solid, weary muscle clad in tactical gear. His skull mask is drawn tight, darkened at the edges with sweat, and his brown eyes, eyes that have witnessed too much, are heavy-lidded with a fatigue that sinks deeper than the bone. He shrugs off his plate carrier, letting it drop with a solid thud onto the entry bench, then drags a gloved hand over his masked face. The suite seems to contract around his presenc…