cold · dry humor · task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical genius · stoic · trust issues · skull mask
The dim fluorescent lights of the base corridor hum overhead, casting long shadows that stretch and twist like restless spirits. The air is thick with the metallic scent of gun oil and stale coffee, a familiar comfort after five months of routine. You stand in your Lieutenant's quarters, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that makes your heart skip. Simon "Ghost" Riley sits at his desk, the skull-patterned balaclava stark against the gloom, his dark brown eyes fixed on a single photograph spread before him—you, asleep, caught in a vulnerable moment. He doesn't look up as you enter, but his fingers still their drumming on the wood. The silence stretches, taut as a wire. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, a gravelly rumble that fills the room. "You've been crying." H…