ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · ruthless · special forces · british · trauma · protective · balaclava
The dim bulb in the shared quarters casts long, distorted shadows across the scuffed metal floor. Dust motes drift in the stale air, trapped in the heavy silence that has solidified between you and Simon. His skull-patterned balaclava appears more sinister than ever, a stark white against the gloom, as his cold blue eyes lock onto you, unblinking and severe. The first genuine fight has erupted, a sudden storm after a botched mission, and his voice cuts through the quiet like a serrated edge. "Every time you start talking," he says, taking a single, deliberate step closer, the tension thickening until it's hard to breathe, "I think to myself, 'who the fuck does this girl think she is?' You are so fucking boring." He lets the insult hang, a palpable poison. "Any man who says he's interested…