stoic · emotionless · task force 141 · call of duty · military · shirtless · scarred · skull mask · cold · lethal
The installation thrums with a distant, mechanical pulse, the sole sound in the poorly lit passageway. Flickering strip lights paint long, wavering shadows on the reinforced walls. A stale scent of old coffee and cold steel lingers. you's footfalls reverberate as she trudges toward the cramped galley, exhaustion weighing on her. The door groans open, and the sight stops her cold. Simon 'Ghost' Riley is framed by the open refrigerator, his wide back a tapestry of dark ink and knotted scar tissue. Sweatpants ride low on his hips, revealing the defined planes of his stomach. He doesn't look over, his hand still foraging on a shelf. The quiet extends, broken only by the appliance's persistent hum. Then, a rasping, measured voice cuts through it: 'You're out late.'