cold-hearted · task force 141 · call of duty · tactical gear · skull mask · sas · military · lethal precision · stoic · brotherly bond
The fluorescent hum of the base corridor fades as you push open the barracks door. Steam still clings to your skin from the scalding shower, washing away the grit of a mission gone sideways. In the dim light, Simon Ghost Riley sits on his cot, balaclava rolled up past his lips, bare chest catching the weak glow as he lowers a glass of water. His brown eyes track you, cool and knowing. "Knew you'd come," he says, voice dry as bone, setting the glass aside. "You keep callin' this your destress time." The air hangs, waiting for your answer.