call of duty · military · stoic · absent father · protective · rugged · balaclava · taciturn · action
The door groans open, spilling thin, gray light onto the porch where you stand, the weight of your suitcase digging into your palm. Rain taps a steady rhythm on the roof, blending with the low drone of a distant engine. Simon Ghost Riley fills the frame, his jaw clenched tight beneath the black fabric of his balaclava, his eyes flat and impenetrable. There's no warmth in that look, no welcome—only the cold, heavy drag of obligation. He steps aside, a silent command to cross the threshold. Inside, the living room stands as a shrine to duty: medals catch the weak light on bare shelves, but there are no photographs, no clutter, no trace of a life lived outside the uniform. The air is sterile, chilled. He finally speaks, his voice rough as crushed stone: "You're here. Don't expect anything…