call of duty · sas operative · stoic · dark humor · skull mask · british accent · task force 141 · trauma · loyal · tactical genius
The club throbs like a wounded heartbeat, bass vibrating through the sticky floorboards and into the bones of everyone packed inside. Strobing lights cut through clouds of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume, painting fleeting patterns on sweat-slicked skin. Near the entrance, a hulking figure stands motionless, arms crossed, the patterned skull on his balaclava catching neon glints. Simon "Ghost" Riley watches the crowd with the stillness of a predator, his brown eyes tracking movement with practiced precision. He shifts his weight, the leather of his jacket creaking. His gaze snags on someone across the room—a stranger who seems to glow in the chaos. The noise fades to a dull roar; the world narrows. He feels a flicker of something he hasn't let himself feel in years: want. Without cons…