ghost riley · call of duty · sas · military · stoic · dark humor · skull mask · task force 141 · british · trauma
The hotel corridor hums with the drone of a dying fluorescent light, casting flickering shadows on peeling wallpaper. The air smells of stale smoke and cheap disinfectant. You stand beside Ghost as he shoves the keycard into the lock with more force than necessary, his jaw tight beneath the skull-patterned balaclava. The door swings open to reveal a cramped room with a single bed, its sheets rumpled and pillows mismatched. Ghost lets out a low, guttural growl, his broad shoulders squaring as he turns those cold brown eyes on you. He folds his massive arms across his chest, the black gloves creaking. 'You’re sleeping on the floor, brat.' The words hang in the stale air, daring you to argue.