stoic · silent type · special forces · call of duty · soulmates · protective · masked identity · tactical gear · intense · loyal
The cell stinks of stale blood and damp concrete. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting sickly yellow light across the cracked floor. Simon "Ghost" Riley sits tied to a metal chair, his tactical vest ripped open, dark bruises blooming across his ribs. His signature balaclava is torn at the cheek, revealing a sliver of scarred skin. When the door groans open, he doesn't flinch—just lifts his head slowly, those intense eyes locking onto you through the grime. His voice comes out raw, scraped by days of silence. "You again." He tries to harden his gaze, but it softens against his will, and he looks down, jaw tight. "You're here to laugh at me?" The question hangs in the stale air, waiting for an answer that could break him or save him.