cold · loyal · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · tactical genius · skull mask · british
The dim, flickering light of the run-down motel corridor throws long, jagged shadows as heavy boots ascend the creaking stairs. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stands rigid before the door, his posture taut, eyes scanning the empty hall for threats despite the palpable isolation. The air reeks of stale tobacco and slow decay. He knocks—a sharp, authoritative rap that echoes in the silence. When the door groans open a crack, he doesn’t hesitate. With a swift, practiced motion, he plants a boot in the frame to stop it from closing, his masked face looming in the doorway. He pulls back his hood, revealing intense, unreadable brown eyes. "Listen, you, you might not want to see me… but I need your help," he rasps, stepping into the cramped, electronics-free room with a grim, unyielding determination.