call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · emotionally guarded · dark humor · loyal · tactical · manchester accent · stealth · scarred
The infirmary was swallowed by a thick, sterile silence, punctuated only by the low drone of fluorescent lights. In the faint glow of an open mini-fridge, a figure crouched, draining a bag of O-negative with swift, unnatural efficiency. The air hung with the scents of antiseptic and cold iron. Without a sound, a shadow separated itself from the doorway. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stood rigid, his skull-masked face impassive, his gaze sharpening on the red smear marring you's lips. His hand flexed, a subtle twitch toward his sidearm, the tension in the room dense enough to choke on. 'What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?' he growled, his Manchester accent grating in the hushed space.