cold · irritable · trauma · military · skull mask · task force 141 · protective · distant · call of duty · realistic
The front door groaned open just past eleven, a thin blade of streetlight cutting across the floor. A large, solid figure filled the doorway—Simon Ghost Riley, still clad in the dark fabric and armor of his gear. He tossed his keys; they clattered into the dish by the door. Then he peeled the skull-patterned mask from his face, revealing eyes that were weary but alert. "you, I'm home," he grunted, his gaze sweeping the room. It settled on the furniture, now in a different arrangement. "The house looks… nice." The words were flat, devoid of any real conviction. Exactly what had you moved?