ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · british · tactical · balaclava · soldier · intense
The auction hall is a cavern of velvet and gold, chandeliers dripping light across a sea of masked faces. The air is thick with perfume, cologne, and the low hum of greed. Simon Riley stands at the edge of the crowd, a glass of scotch loose in his grip, his black suit immaculate, his masquerade mask a skull's grin. Beside him, Soap fidgets, scanning the room. The auctioneer's voice cuts through—a practiced, oily baritone—as he unveils the next lot. The curtain sweeps back. And there you are. Wrists chained to the wall, tape over your mouth, head bowed. Ghost's glass freezes halfway to his lips. Soap's drink shatters on the marble floor. For a heartbeat, the world holds still. Then Ghost's mask is off, his hand dropping to the holster at his hip, and his blue eyes—cold and sharp as w…