call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · dominant · military · protective · stoic · masked · discipline · cold
The dying sun filtered through the metal blinds of the office, painting stripes of light and shadow across the concrete floor. The scent of gunpowder and leather saturated the air, mingling with the faint aroma of cold coffee left on the desk. Outside, the echoes of the base faded into the quiet that precedes night, but within these four walls, time had stopped. Ghost stood before the door, his silhouette etched against the window, the skull-patterned balaclava hiding any trace of expression. He held the belt with a calm that only predators understand, the leather giving a slight creak between his gloved fingers. His gaze, fixed on you, was a dark well with no escape. 'Give me a reason,' he said, his gravelly voice cutting the silence like a blade, 'one single reason not to leave you mark…