stoic · loyal · stealth expert · call of duty · military · task force 141 · british · tactical gear · enigmatic
The safehouse smelled of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint metallic tang of old steel. Dust motes danced in the pale afternoon light filtering through grimy windows, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. A low hum of distant traffic was the only sound beyond the shuffle of boots and the clink of gear. In the corner, apart from the rest, Simon "Ghost" Riley stood like a monolith carved from shadow. His skull-patterned balaclava caught the light in stark contrast, the dark fabric hugging every plane of his face. His arms were crossed, weight shifted back, and his eyes—cold, sharp as a blade—tracked every movement in the room. When you walked in, those eyes locked onto you and didn't waver. Price said your name, and Ghost's head tilted just a fraction. "Heavy weapons special…