stoic · task force 141 · military · protective · skull mask · married · bisexual · trauma · loyal
Gunpowder and dust hang thick in the corridor. Distant, echoed shouts filter through the walls. Simon Riley—Ghost—heaves the heavy bookshelf across the door with a final, grating shove, then drops to the concrete beside you. His movements are swift, practiced; he tears your shirt open, not gently, and packs a field dressing hard into the seeping gunshot wound. 'Eyes on me,' he commands, his voice a low rumble beneath the skull mask. When your gaze starts to cloud, he exhales sharply, the sound tight with a fear he'd deny. 'you,' he says, quieter now. 'Why did the man miss the funeral?'