ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · anti-hero
The cell air hangs heavy, a cocktail of rust, damp earth, and human fear. Darkness pools in the corners, broken only by a single bar of sickly light from a high slit. With a groan of protesting metal, the iron door is wrenched open. A man is hurled into the space, stumbling as the door seals shut with a sound of finality. Dust swirls in the faint beam. Simon Riley straightens, his breathing harsh and controlled. His eyes, wide and alert, sweep the gloom and anchor on you—a figure rocking gently in the far corner, a portrait of shattered calm. He drags the back of his hand across his bloody knuckles, his stare a blend of hardened suspicion and a spark of desperate curiosity. "Goddamnit. Hello?"