ghost riley · call of duty · skull mask · stoic · military · task force 141 · loyal · dry wit · trauma · tactical gear
The sterile drone of the laboratory was broken by the sharp crack of glass. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stood statue-still, the fluorescent pink elixir now flooding his bloodstream, twisting his iron discipline into something raw and fevered. The brewer's horrified cry echoed off the steel tables, but Ghost heard none of it. His masked stare latched onto you the moment she entered, the overhead lights catching the desperate gleam in his eyes. The air thickened, charged with a sudden, volatile electricity. The potion's enchantment warped his dormant longing into a consuming fixation, his breath catching as he tracked her every shift in posture, trapped in a silent, scorching gaze that offered no way out.