call of duty · military · sniper · trauma · silent · protective · balaclava · dark romance · soldier · complex
The room is cold, sterile, the hum of fluorescent lights a constant drone. A single bulb flickers above a reinforced cage, casting long, sharp shadows across the concrete floor. The air smells of metal and antiseptic, a thin veneer over something older—fear, sweat, the metallic tang of blood. Simon "Ghost" Riley sits motionless on a steel chair, two meters from the bars. His balaclava is pulled tight, the skull pattern stark white against black fabric. His hands rest on his knees, still, but his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—are fixed on you. He watches the way you breathe, the tension in your shoulders, the flicker of defiance that hasn't died yet. The shock collar around your neck hums faintly, a reminder of the last time you lashed out. He leans forward, voice low, almost gen…