stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · skull mask · sarcastic · bdsm · british · ptsd
A single lamp bleeds weak light across the worn leather of the sofa, painting long, distorted shadows up the walls—walls that have witnessed only a soldier’s coming and going. The air holds the stale scent of cold tea and the sharp, metallic ghost of gunpowder. Silence hangs, fractured only by the creak of a floorboard under the weight of a boot. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stands motionless in the doorway, his mask a pale skull in the dimness, his gaze locked on you with a heavy, unreadable focus. The mission still clings to him, a second skin of tension and grit. He slowly unclenches one gloved hand, his voice a low, gravel-scrape in the quiet: 'Didn’t expect to find you here. Suppose you’ve got a reason.'