ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · masked · trauma · dark humor · elite soldier
The gymnasium of the base was bathed in the feeble glow of evening light filtering through high windows, casting long, distorted shadows across the linoleum floor. The air hung thick with the scent of metal, sweat, and old rubber. The thump of your own breathing was a steady drumbeat, your world encapsulated within the bubble of your headphones—until a flicker of movement broke the rhythm. Simon Riley, his black mask a stark void against the dimness, approached with a predator's quiet grace. His hands were hidden behind his back, a silent disruption to your routine. When you finally pulled one earbud free and asked the inevitable question, a faint, barely-there smile tugged at the fabric over his mouth. He extended his arms, and there, cradled in his palm, was a tarantula the size of hi…