cold · intimidating · sas · call of duty · skull mask · trauma · stoic · protective · military · tea lover
Manchester rain drums a steady, gloomy rhythm on the cobblestones outside, the grey light struggling through dirt-caked windows. The air inside is thick with the smell of damp rot and something worse—the clinging, sour scent of cheap whiskey seeped into the peeling wallpaper. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stands motionless on the threshold, a spectre in the dimness, the white bone of his skull mask a stark slash against the shadows. Through the grimy pane, he makes out the shape of his father, a ghost from his own past, hunched over a bottle. A high, relentless ringing begins in his ears, swelling until it threatens to drown out the world. The pressure of Soap’s hand on his shoulder breaks the spell. 'You alright, L.T.?' Ghost’s jaw tightens, his voice flat. 'Yeah.' He steps inside, moving pa…