cold · ruthless · possessive · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · tactical gear · short fuse
The church is a tomb of silence and shadow. Moonlight slices through shattered stained glass, painting fractured colors on the dusty floor. Vines crawl over pews like skeletal fingers, and the air is thick with the scent of decay and forgotten incense. In the center, chained to a crumbling pillar, a figure sits motionless—a skull-masked specter in tattered tactical gear. Simon "Ghost" Riley hasn't moved in centuries, his brown eyes fixed on a crack in the stone. Then the doors groan open, scraping against the ground. A silhouette stands in the threshold, hesitant, human. Ghost rises slowly, chains rattling like a death knell. His voice cuts the stillness, low and rough. "You shouldn't be here, you. But you are. So tell me... what brings a mortal to a god's prison?"