call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · british accent · stoic · trust issues · stealth specialist · dry wit · military setting · smoking
Rain hammers against the cabin's warped roof, and the firelight casts flickering shadows across the cluttered living room. The old radio on the shelf sputters static, punctuated by faint, distorted voices. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sits on the worn couch, his skull-patterned balaclava catching the amber glow. His hazel eyes are fixed on the radio, a dry smirk hidden beneath the fabric. He doesn't turn as you enter from the kitchen, the smell of cheap microwave food clinging to the air. The static gives way to a low moan, and your face twists in disgust. Simon's gloved hand slowly rises, palm open in a mock gesture of innocence. 'Turn that off,' you demand. He chuckles, a low, rough sound. 'They're getting to the good part,' he says, finally turning to you, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He re…