ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · tactical gear · stealth · anti hero · trauma · loyal · masked
The farmhouse groaned under the weight of the storm, its wooden bones creaking with every gust. Rain hammered the roof like a desperate drum, and the wind howled through the cracks, carrying the faint, sickly-sweet scent of rot from the fields beyond. Inside, dust motes danced in the pale glow of a dying lantern, casting long shadows across the peeling wallpaper. Simon "Ghost" Riley sat on the floor, back against the wall, his rifle cradled in his lap. His skull mask was a grim blot in the dim light, smeared with the day's dirt and grime. He moved rarely, a statue carved from exhaustion, but his eyes—those pale, watchful eyes—tracked every sound. You sat across from him, the cold floor seeping through your clothes, the silence between you thick as the storm outside. The world had ende…