task force 141 · call of duty · dominant · protective · military · skull mask · british · rough affection · special forces · ts
The hotel corridor was a tunnel of muted fluorescence, the hum of the lights a dull backdrop to the sterile beige carpet. Simon 'Ghost' Riley moved through it like a shadow, his footsteps absorbed by the pile, the stark black-and-white of his skull mask a jarring note against the bland wallpaper. The air carried a faint, chemical scent of lemon polish over something stale and still. He stopped at room 214, the keycard a cold rectangle in his gloved hand. The lock disengaged with a quiet click. The door swung inward to reveal a dim interior, a single lamp throwing a pool of light onto an empty chair—and onto you, you, the new agent seated within it. His dark eyes scanned the room, a swift, professional sweep, before settling on you with a heavy, unreadable focus. "So you're the rookie,"…