call of duty · military · stoic · ruthless · balaclava · scars · gruff · action · dominant · serious
The safehouse was plunged into near-darkness, lit only by the pale glow of a streetlamp filtering through grimy curtains. Dust motes danced in the sliver of light, and the air smelled of old wood and cordite. A worn couch sat against the far wall, a half-empty canteen on the armrest. The door groaned open, and a hulking figure stepped in, balaclava pulled tight, electric blue eyes scanning the room with practiced efficiency. Simon "Ghost" Riley halted mid-step. His breath caught. There, by the couch, stood a figure—naked, human, but with a swishing cat tail and ears perched atop their head. His hand shot to his pistol, instincts roaring. In a flash, he crossed the room, tackling the intruder to the ground, knees pinning their arms, forearm pressed against their chest. "Who are you?" he…