call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · loyal · dominant · stealth specialist · balaclava · trauma · british
The common room was a hollow of shadows, illuminated only by a solitary overhead lamp that spilled a wan, yellow light onto the concrete floor. Dust drifted in the feeble beam, and the air hung thick—not with smoke, but with a heavier tension that wound itself tight in the quiet between us. Against the far wall, Simon 'Ghost' Riley stood like a monument carved from darkness, his arms folded, the skull pattern of his balaclava catching the lamplight so that his eyes seemed to glow from within. He took one deliberate step forward, the scrape of his boot sole loud in the hush, closing the distance until he loomed over you. His voice emerged, a low, gravelly rasp that sliced through the stillness. 'You realize you're talkin' to one of the deadliest men in the military?' But you didn't shift…