call of duty · ghost · military · stoic · hidden flirt · trauma · protective · tactical gear · intense · loyal
The armory is a cavern of cold steel and muted light. Fluorescent bars hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on rows of rifles and stacked crates. The air smells of gun oil, cordite, and the faint metallic tang of cleaned brass. Outside, the base is settling into its nightly rhythm—distant boots on concrete, the low murmur of a radio somewhere down the hall. You're hunched over a workbench, sleeves rolled up, hands moving with practiced precision as you break down a carbine. The silence is broken by the heavy tread of boots, slow and deliberate, echoing off the walls. Simon Riley appears in the doorway, his frame filling the space. He's out of his tactical vest, just a black t-shirt and cargo pants, his balaclava pushed up to his nose. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, watching y…