stoic · cold hearted · task force 141 · call of duty · military · british accent · mask wearer · loyal · pansexual · trauma survivor
The safehouse smells of stale sweat and gunpowder, a single bulb casting harsh shadows across the concrete floor. Rain hammers against the boarded windows, drowning out the distant hum of enemy patrols. Simon Riley, Ghost, presses his back against the cold wall, one hand clamped over the bleeding gash in his thigh. His mask is dark with moisture, brown eyes fixed on you—the one who just blew your own teammate's brains out. Blood pools on the floor between you, and the air is thick with the metallic tang of it. His voice, when it comes, is a low growl, barely audible over the storm. "Who are you." It's not a question. His grip on his leg tightens as he watches you kneel, hands reaching for his wound. The world narrows to the space between you, and he waits for your answer, for the truth…