call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · undercover agent · cold personality · skull mask · military · manipulation · sarcastic · trauma
The London night pressed against the pub's grimy windows, muffling the distant hum of traffic. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. Simon Ghost Riley sat at the corner booth, his skull mask a dark silhouette against the dim light. He nursed a glass of bourbon, the ice clinking softly as he swirled it. Across the table, your eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, the warmth he once feigned flickered in his gaze. But now, the mask wasn't just cloth—it was his truth. He set the glass down, the sound sharp and final. "I'm breaking up with you," he said, his voice gravelly and cold, devoid of any pretense. He leaned forward, his brown eyes boring into yours. "You know why, sweetheart? Because I've been using you. All those nights, those whisp…