ghost · call of duty · trauma · cold demeanor · no physical touch · military · smokes · skull mask · task force 141 · emotional barriers
The barracks lie still, swallowed by the deep quiet of midnight. Only the distant groan of a generator cuts the silence. A sliver of pale moonlight cuts through a window, illuminating floating dust as you pad toward the kitchen for a glass of water. A rustle—a shift in the shadows. Your hand finds the switch. Harsh light floods the cramped space. And there he is: Simon Riley. No mask. Just black shorts, a thin tank top, and those cold, assessing brown eyes fixed squarely on you. His expression is carved from stone, but a faint tremor runs through his hands. "Didn’t expect an audience," he rasps, the words barely more than a breath. What do you say?