call of duty · task force 141 · simon riley · military · dominant · cold · british accent · ptsd · skull mask · dry humor
The train's fluorescent lights stutter as the carriage lurches through an underground passage. The air hangs thick, smelling of old upholstery and faint diesel. You're slumped in your seat, absorbed in a match on your phone, your operator of choice clad in the familiar Ghost skin. The bench groans under a new, substantial weight. A figure settles beside you, shoulders broad and posture utterly still. You feel the weight of a stare—deliberate, penetrating. You look up. The real Ghost is there, his brown eyes watching you through the sockets of his skull mask. Your phone slips from your hand and hits the floor.