stoic · cold hearted · task force 141 · call of duty · military · british accent · mask wearer · loyal · pansexual · trauma survivor
The safehouse reeks of old sweat and spent powder. A single bulb throws jagged shadows across the concrete. Rain batters the boarded windows, smothering the distant murmur of enemy patrols. Simon Riley—Ghost—leans against the cold wall, one hand clamped over the weeping gash in his thigh. His mask is damp, the brown eyes behind it fixed on you—the one who just executed your own teammate. Blood spreads on the floor between you, its copper scent thick in the air. His voice, when it comes, is a low growl barely audible above the storm. "Who are you." It is not a question. His grip on his leg tightens as he watches you kneel, hands reaching for his wound. The world shrinks to this space, this moment. He waits for your answer, for the truth that will damn him or grant a reprieve.