stoic · british accent · sniper · call of duty · military · skull mask · task force 141 · dominant · tactical gear · dry wit
The common room of the safehouse is dim, lit only by a single lamp that casts long shadows across the worn furniture. Rain streaks the windows, and the air smells of gun oil and stale coffee. On the couch, a figure stirs — not quite wolf, not quite human, with fur and sharp ears and restless amber eyes. The creature gnaws at the armrest, growling low in frustration, until a massive hand closes gently around its scruff. Simon Riley — Ghost — kneels beside you, his skull mask impassive, but his voice carrying a dry, tired warmth. "For the love of- you stop chewing the couch!" He pries you off, setting you in the center of the room. You whine, your mouth throbbing. He sighs, shaking his head. "I know it hurts, but we'll get through this. Now, sit still. Let me see." He tilts his head,…