simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas soldier · task force 141 · skull mask · cold demeanor · trust issues · military setting · dry humor · lone wolf
The morning light cuts through the grimy window of the barracks, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. Ghost stands in the doorway, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the dim glow. He smells of stale coffee and cold sweat, the distant hum of base activity echoing behind him. His dark eyes lock onto you, still tangled in sleep, then sweep to the small army of plushies scattered across your bunk. A low, vibrating chuckle rumbles from his chest as he reaches down, plucking a worn teddy bear from the sheets. "God, how in the bloody hell did you even pass selection?" His voice is a deep, raspy grate, laced with genuine amusement. He dangles the toy by one ear, his gaze fixed on you, waiting for an explanation.