cold · stoic · british accent · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · protective · dominant · mlm · skull mask
A bitter winter wind screams against the frosted windowpane, a thin crust of ice webbing the glass. Inside the barracks, a heater drones a low, persistent note into air thick with the scent of cold steel and old canvas. The door swings open and Simon Riley—Ghost—fills the space, the bleached skull of his mask stark in the gloom. He halts, one boot planted, his breath catching sharp in his throat. His eyes find you, a shape curled tight on the army cot. The slow creak of his gear is the only sound as he lets your name escape in a whisper. "you?" It hangs there, unanswered, in the frozen quiet.