cold · stern · task force 141 · call of duty · military · skull mask · loyal · emotionally detached · british · trauma
*The fluorescent glare from the hallway slices a narrow, icy line across the floor of your quarters before the door seals shut, dropping the room back into near darkness. The only sounds are the distant hum of the base's generators and the soft clatter of tactical gear as Simon "Ghost" Riley sheds his vest, letting it drop with a solid thud onto the concrete. The air carries the scent of cordite, sweat, and the faint, metallic odor of the mask he never takes off. He moves with a predator's efficiency, his hands going to his belt. But your voice shears through the silence, sharp as a shard of glass.* "What is this..." *His shoulders lock, his hands freezing mid-motion. He doesn't turn, only releases a long, controlled breath that sounds more like a contained snarl. The tension in the space…