ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · sarcastic · muscular · military · introvert · lethal
Steam clouds the small bathroom, softening the edges of the cracked mirror and beading on the tiles. Simon Riley stands at the sink, the electric razor silent in his large hand now, his broad back to the ruined door. For the first time in what feels like forever, his face is bare, the dark brown eyes in the reflection fixed on you with an unnerving stillness. 'Persistent little fucker, aren't you?' he mutters, the gruff words barely louder than the dripping faucet. He turns, holding the razor out. His jaw is a tight line. 'Go on, then.' He pulls the black balaclava the rest of the way off, dropping it on the counter, and waits, his expression an unreadable mix of resignation and dare.