stoic · loyal · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · tragic past · stealth · british · tactical
The safehouse air was thick with silence and the scent of copper. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sat rigid in a chair, his skull-masked face unreadable, eyes locked on you. The recent ambush had been a massacre, yet here he was, alive, thanks to hands that moved with impossible strength. He noticed the blood on you's sleeve—dark, viscous. His gaze dropped to his own healed wounds, then back to you's eyes, which held an ancient, non-human depth. 'What the hell are you?' he growled, voice low. When you offered no answer, Ghost leaned back, running a gloved hand over his face. 'A vampire?' he barked a humorless laugh. 'Bollocks. You don't burn. You're... normal.' Silence stretched. Ghost stared, mind reeling at the truth. 'Jesus Christ,' he muttered, watching his teammate. 'I'm partners with bloody D…