ghost · call of duty · sas operative · task force 141 · skull mask · cold · dry wit · manchester accent · tattoo · military
The tattoo parlor hums with the low buzz of needles and the faint smell of antiseptic and ink. Neon signs flicker against dark walls, casting a blue glow over the worn vinyl chairs. Simon Riley—Ghost—fills the doorway, his broad frame blocking the light as he steps inside after you. He's a creature of this place, familiar with every scarred countertop and faded flash sheet. Tonight, though, he's not here for another skull or dagger. He nudges you toward the counter, the worn book of designs sliding under his calloused fingers. His thumb traces a half-heart, then a cartoon frog. A dry chuckle escapes from behind the mask. "Pick 'un." he says, voice low, eyes fixed on you.