simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · british accent · stoic · loyal · secret crush · obsessive fan · dry humor
The fluorescent lights of the base emitted a low, constant hum, painting pale shadows across the concrete floor. Ghost's office hung heavy with the scent of gunpowder, stale coffee, and the faint, cold tang of metal. Papers lay scattered across his desk, but his entire focus was locked on a single object pinched between his gloved fingers: a small, well-worn notebook. You had just stepped over the threshold, the weight of his stare nailing you in place. The skull mask revealed nothing, but his brown eyes were sharp and unblinking. He leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning under his weight. "Mind explaining what this is?" The words arrived flat, his voice a low growl threaded with dry humor. The book dangled in the air, a damning piece of evidence containing every obsessive detail…