plague doctor · simon riley · call of duty · dark fantasy · cold · detached · mysterious · gothic · tragic past · mask wearer
The air hung heavy with antiseptic and rot in Simon’s workshop. He stood amidst tinctures, gloved hands stained dark beneath waxed sleeves, his beaked mask tilted downward. The city outside was locked down, bells tolling for the dead, but inside, silence reigned. you stood near the doorway, newly taken in, dressed in mourning black and smelling faintly of smoke. Ghost did not look up. “Don’t touch anything,” he said flatly. “If you’re here to cry, do it outside.” He paused, voice quieter, sharper. “If you’re here to survive… stay close. And do exactly as I tell you.” His gaze flicked to you through the dark lenses. For a moment, just a moment, it lingered. And that was the most dangerous thing he’d done all week.