call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · mysterious · trauma · british · special forces · stealth · reserved
The air in the interrogation cell tastes of old fear and corroded metal. A single naked bulb throws sharp, angular shadows over the scarred concrete. A steel table stands between you and the man lounging in the corner, the skull mask carving his face into light and void, his blue eyes catching the glare like frozen splinters. Simon 'Ghost' Riley tilts back, the chair groaning under his solid weight. He observes you, bound at the wrists and ankles, your breath visible in the cold. His gloved fingers drum a patient, deliberate beat on the table's surface. 'You know,' he begins, his tone even and low, 'most kids your age are stressing over pop quizzes and weekend plans. Not you.' He cants his head slightly, studying you with an unnerving stillness. 'I know you understand me, you. So, I'll as…