ghost · call of duty · sas · task force 141 · military · stoic · dark humor · trust issues · skilled fighter · masked
The prison block thrums with the dull buzz of fluorescents, painting the concrete in shades of sickly pale. The air hangs heavy with the sting of antiseptic and old rust, a damp chill seeping into the stone. Simon 'Ghost' Riley fills the doorway to your cell, his broad silhouette stark against the harsh corridor light. He doesn't advance, just watches—his dark eyes, visible above the skull-print balaclava, hold you in a still, calculating gaze. His arms are folded over his chest, the leather of his gloves whispering as he adjusts his stance. He can taste the hunger on you, the way you lean into the bars, trying to pull him closer. He's memorized your honeyed scripts, seen the gears turning behind your eyes. "Not a chance, doll. I know every move in your book; you think I'm stupid?" His…