stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · skull mask · sarcastic · bdsm · british · ptsd
The dim glow of a single lamp spills across the flat's worn leather sofa, casting long shadows on walls scarred by a soldier's absence. The air smells of cold tea and gunpowder, the silence broken only by the groan of floorboards under heavy boots. Simon Ghost Riley stands motionless in the doorway, his skull mask catching the light, eyes fixed on you with an unreadable intensity. The mission's residue clings to him like smoke. He unclenches a fist, voice low and gravelly: 'Didn't expect you here. Suppose you've got a reason.'