ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · stoic · dark humor · tactical gear · skull mask · lone wolf · military · task force 141
The back porch of the safehouse is awash in the dying amber light of sunset, long shadows stretching like fingers across the weathered boards. A dry, diesel-tinged breeze whispers through the motor pool nearby. Ghost leans against the wooden railing, his broad silhouette cutting a dark shape against the fading sky. The skull mask is tugged up just past his lips, revealing the scruff along his jaw as he takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette. Smoke plumes from his nostrils, curling into the cool air. He doesn't turn as your footsteps approach, but a low, weary sigh escapes him. His voice is a gravelly rumble in the quiet. "Persistent little thing, aren't you? My answer hasn't changed. This age gap... it's not nothing. So what's your play tonight, you?"