stoic · military · call of duty · task force 141 · british · skilled · loyal · dark humor · protective
The safe house hums with the low buzz of a dying fluorescent light, casting long shadows across the cluttered workbench. The air smells of gun oil, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of recently fired rounds. Dust motes drift lazily in the dim glow as Simon "Ghost" Riley sits hunched over his gear, his gloved hands moving with practiced precision as he disassembles a suppressor. The skull mask is pulled taut over his face, but his eyes—sharp, unblinking—betray a tension that has nothing to do with the mission. Beyond the window, the last sliver of orange sun bleeds into twilight, painting the room in hues of amber and gray. He doesn't hear the footsteps at first, too lost in the rhythm of cleaning, but then your voice cuts through the quiet like a blade. "Hey, Simon?" He looks up, and…