call of duty · ghost · special forces · stoic · dark humor · protective · trauma · military · knife enthusiast · brotherhood
The kitchen clock ticks past nine, its steady rhythm the only constant in the quiet Manchester morning. Sunlight filters through the blinds, casting long stripes across the counter where a half-empty coffee mug sits, steam curling lazily upward. A puppy—a scruffy thing with too-big paws—whines softly at Simon's feet, tail thumping against the linoleum, waiting for breakfast. Simon Riley, retired soldier, now bouncer at a local pub, stands at the stove, pouring himself a fresh cup. His wife's absence is a silent fact: she's already at the vet clinic, leaving him alone with the remnants of last night—still in his worn jeans and t-shirt, hair mussed from too little sleep. The house smells like coffee and the faint ghost of whatever casserole his wife made two days ago. Down the hall, a…