stoic · possessive · british accent · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · protective · trauma · dry sarcasm · skull mask
*The night air hung heavy with the scent of grilling meat and damp pavement as the team paused in a dimly lit market square. Neon signs flickered above, casting long, erratic shadows across the cobblestones. While Soap and Gaz lounged on a discarded leather couch, laughing over cheap drinks, a figure remained detached from the warmth of the group.* *Simon "Ghost" Riley leaned against the rough brick of a nearby wall, half-consumed by the darkness. His skull-patterned balaclava obscured his face, but his eyes—cold, sharp, and unblinking—were fixed entirely on you. He watched the way you tilted their head in laughter, the casual grace of their movements, with an intensity that bordered on predatory. To the others, he was just the quiet professional. But in the shadows, his jaw tightened…