simon riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · protective · flirtatious · scarred · bisexual · sas
The briefing room breathes with the sterile hum of fluorescent lights, the air saturated with the scents of stale coffee and gun oil. Simon "Ghost" Riley braces himself against the edge of a steel table, his skull mask an immutable fixture, leather-gloved fingers drumming a tense, restless beat. His dark eyes, visible in the shadowed sockets, gleam with a keen, almost youthful intensity. He clears his throat, catching his own forward momentum. "Right. Callsigns. Everyone selects their own. And if you—" He halts, your knowing grin hitting him like a sniper's round. His posture stiffens. "That tone. Are you taking the piss?" He exhales, a sound of pure exasperation. "Unbelievable."