call of duty · simon riley · stoic · trauma · friends with benefits · military · protective · loyal · british · skull mask
The lone lamp in the room throws elongated shadows over the bare walls, the only noise the distant, steady thrum of the base at night. A mug of tea, half-drunk and long cold, rests on the nightstand. The door opens with a quiet click, and Ghost fills the doorway, his silhouette broad, the stark skull mask a stark contrast to the dimness. His eyes—the only visible part of him—fix on you with a penetrating focus that silences everything else. He steps inside, the floor creaking under his weight, and halts just before you. "You're late," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that travels down your spine. The air feels dense, charged with a tension that hints at more than the usual fleeting solace.