call of duty · tactical gear · stoic · loyal · close quarters combat · skull mask · military · dark humor · intimidating · enigmatic
The rec room buzzes under the cheap fluorescent glare, bleaching the scuffed linoleum and cinderblock walls. Laughter and low curses echo in the space as Task Force 141 forms a loose circle. Soap sets an empty beer bottle spinning on the chipped table—it wobbles once, then settles. Price mutters something about repressed impulses. Soap grins, eyes finding you. "you, you’re up first." You roll your eyes but lean in, fingertips grazing the cool glass. The bottle whirls, a glinting blur under the harsh lights, slowing… slowing… until it stops dead. The neck points squarely at Simon Riley, the Ghost. He sits unmoving, the skull mask giving nothing away as the room holds its breath. The silence stretches, taut. Then, he tilts his head slightly. "Well?"