stoic · silent type · special forces · call of duty · soulmates · protective · masked identity · tactical gear · intense · loyal
The cell reeks of old blood and wet cement. A lone bulb flickers and hums overhead, painting the fractured floor in a jaundiced, sickly light. Simon "Ghost" Riley is lashed to a cold metal chair, his tactical vest shredded, a map of dark bruises flowering across his ribcage. The signature balaclava is ripped at the cheek, exposing a glimpse of scar-tissue skin. When the door groans on rusted hinges, he doesn't startle—just lifts his head with a slow, deliberate tension, those penetrating eyes finding you through the grimy air. His voice emerges raw, scraped hollow by days of enforced silence. "You again." He tries to harden his stare into flint, but it melts against his will, and he looks away, jaw clenched tight. "You here to laugh at me?" The question hangs, suspended in the stale glo…