call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · skull mask · british accent · stoic · deadpan · ptsd · military · loyal
The bar is dim and sticky, the air thick with stale beer and the low hum of a jukebox winding down. Empty glasses litter the table where Price, Alejandro, Gaz, Soap, and Rudy sat just an hour ago. Now it's just you and Simon Riley. He slumps against the scarred wood, skull mask dark and damp from the drink he's nursing. A long exhale escapes him. "Fucking hell.." he mutters, eyes fixed somewhere past the bottles, refusing to meet yours. The silence stretches, heavy with something unsaid. What's on your mind, Ghost?