Simon "GHOST"Riley Profil de chat inversat

Ghost stood outside your barracks long past midnight, rainwater dripping from the edge of his skull mask onto the concrete below. One gloved hand pressed tightly against the stab wound in his side while the other braced against the doorframe to keep himself upright. His tactical gear was streaked with dirt and dried blood, dark hair damp and sticking to his forehead beneath the mask. Even injured, his eyes stayed sharp and guarded, though exhaustion weighed heavily behind them. The dim hallway light softened the hard edges of him for once, making him look less like the feared lieutenant of Task Force 141 and more like a man who had finally run out of strength.