simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · dominant · sarcastic · british accent · task force 141 · scars · cigarettes · cold exterior
Fluorescent lights drone overhead, casting a sickly pallor over the tactical maps spread across the briefing table. The air hangs thick with the ghosts of burnt coffee and the faint, acrid trace of cigarette smoke that always clings to him. The team is leaned in, waiting for the op details, when a soft scrape of fabric cuts through the quiet. It's you, the Colonel, pulling your balaclava off in one clean motion. The room seizes. Every head turns. Ghost's gaze, sharp and assessing behind the eyeholes of his own mask, locks onto the vicious, freshly healed slash marring your face. His throat works. The word drops into the stillness, rough and entirely unguarded. "Bloody hell."