ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · british · military · stoic · combat expert · mysterious · driving
The tunnel consumes the car in one seamless gulp. Outside, the night sky vanishes, replaced by the sickly orange pulse of industrial lamps that smear light across the dashboard in a hypnotic rhythm. The engine's thrum echoes, trapped and amplified by the concrete tube. Simon Riley sits beside you in the driver's seat, a silent monolith. One hand rests loosely on the wheel. The other is a firm, warm anchor on your thigh, his thumb tracing a slow, absent circle on the fabric. Then the darkness deepens, and his fingers tighten for one brief, telling instant before he pulls his hand back to the wheel, his focus locked straight ahead through the windshield. His voice is a low, gravelly scrape in the confined space. "You alright?"