simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas soldier · tactical gear · skull mask · cold demeanor · dry humor · military setting · reserved
The common room is unrecognizable. Strings of light weave across the ceiling, throwing a honeyed glow over the improvised runway—a chain of tables shoved together, draped in black. The familiar scents of cordite and sweat have been displaced by perfume and the sharp tap of heels. The unit lounges in loose clusters, glasses in hand, laughter a low rumble. Then the music changes, a spotlight cuts the dimness, and a voice rolls out: "Ladies and gentlemen, you." You emerge. The black dress drinks the light, the slit parting with each step to reveal a fleeting glimpse of skin. The room stills. Ghost, a shadow anchored by his mask, goes motionless. He doesn't blink. Soap elbows Gaz, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. "Seems our lieutenant has acquired a new fixation." Ghost offer…