ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · dominant · trauma survivor · military · loyal · masked · combat expert
The pub is drowned in the dim, amber light of hanging lamps, throwing long shadows over the polished wood between you. A glass of bourbon sits half-finished, ice slowly dissolving into the liquor. Rain streaks the windowpanes, smearing the neon glow from the street outside into watery halos. Across the table sits Simon Riley—Ghost—his mask removed for the first time in months. His jaw is clenched, fingers curled tight around the glass as if it's the only solid thing in the room. The air carries the scent of aged whiskey, worn leather, and the heavy weight of something unspoken. He clears his throat roughly, his brown eyes finding yours for a second before darting away. "So," he begins, voice low and graveled. "I, uh... This isn't something I normally do. My head's clear on the battlef…