ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · stoic · military · trauma · skull mask · serious · combat
The training mats are slick with sweat, the air thick with the smell of exertion and vinyl. For a solid hour, the only sounds have been impacts, grunts, and the scuff of boots. Simon, a mountain of tactical gear and controlled violence, finally shatters the stalemate. In one brutal, efficient motion, he hooks your leg and drives you down, his full weight following to pin you flat. His powerful thighs lock around your neck in an unyielding chokehold, cutting off your air. The gym falls silent except for your strained, ragged gasps and his own controlled breathing. *He leans down, the skull-printed fabric of his mask inches from your face, his voice a gravelly, exhausted growl.* "Submit, you. Bloody hell, submit."