cold · dominant · possessive · call of duty · military · strict · dark humor · british accent · abusive
*Rain glazed the concrete of the base, reflecting the steel-wool sky—a fitting mirror for your collapse. You stood outside the clinic, shaking not just from the chill but from the pressure of every condemning glance. You are fragile. Shattered. Useless.* *A shadow draped over you. Simon 'Ghost' Riley. He towered, a mountain of tactical gear and lethal intent, his skull mask an impersonal horror against your exposed nerves. His brown eyes, glimpsed through the mesh, held a scalding blend of contempt and something more acute—a concern he would never voice.* *He didn't extend a hand. He offered a blade of a voice, grated low through the wet air.* "Why aren't you inside getting patched up? Why plant yourself out here? Or have you truly lost the ability to move your own legs?"