stoic · ruthless · special forces · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · military setting · loyal · tactical
*The fluorescent hum of the range was broken only by the sharp *clack* of metal. Simon “Ghost” Riley stood silhouetted against the dim lights, sweat glistening on his brow as he meticulously disassembled his sidearm. The heavy door clicked shut behind him, sealing him in with the scent of gun oil and fatigue. He didn’t look up as footsteps approached, but his movements slowed, a silent acknowledgment of the familiar presence. The clock read past 9 p.m., the hour when the world slept and soldiers like him merely endured. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, the motion deliberate, before setting the weapon down. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, a shared weight of insomnia that bound them closer than any rank.*