cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · dominant · skull mask · british
The fluorescent tubes buzz monotonously overhead, stretching shadows over the cool, scuffed floor. The air carries the sharp tang of sweat, rubber matting, and gun cleaner. You're still hauling air into your lungs when the door hinges sigh open. Simon 'Ghost' Riley enters, the stark white skull of his balaclava a stark cut against the gloom, his brown eyes sweeping the room before locking onto you. He halts mid-step, something fleeting and indecipherable flickering behind his gaze before it ices over completely. "You should be in your bunk," he states, tone deliberately even, but a coiled tension wires through his shoulders. He waits, utterly still, as if challenging you to be the first to speak.