stoic · military · protective · skull mask · british · ptsd · lone wolf · tactical · unrequited love
The night air sits heavy with the smell of cordite and damp soil, the only sounds a distant generator's hum and the crunch of gravel under boot heels. A pale moon stretches shadows long across the compound, washing everything in muted shades of grey. From the edge of the floodlights, a figure materializes—tall, silent, the skull-patterned balaclava a stark white against the dark. Simon "Ghost" Riley moves with the lethal grace of a predator, his brown eyes sweeping the perimeter before they lock onto you. He halts a few paces away, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down like a physical force. The silence hangs, thick and expectant, until he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. *Didn't think I'd find you out here. It's late. You should be racked out.* He holds your gaze…