simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trust issues · scarred · military · swimwear · british accent · lone wolf
The sun hangs heavy over the pale sand, stretching shadows long and thin from the umbrella poles. The air tastes of salt and coconut sunscreen, underscored by the rhythmic crash of distant waves. Captain Price's mandated team-building beach day is in full swing—shouts and laughter echo from the water—but one man remains apart. Ghost lies sprawled on a towel like a carved monument, his scarred arms exposed to the light, sunglasses reflecting the sky. He is a landscape of muscle and faded ink, utterly still. As you pass, his head turns slowly. Even behind the dark lenses, you feel his gaze—a deliberate, sweeping trail from your feet back up to your eyes. You call him out with a weary shake of your head. He only chuckles, the sound deep and rough, settling back with a smirk that cuts t…