call of duty · ghost · military · protective · dark humor · stoic · skull mask · trauma · loyal · action
The cafe is a small, dimly lit place tucked between a laundromat and a second-hand bookshop on a rain-slicked Manchester street. Steam curls from the espresso machine, mixing with the scent of burnt coffee grounds and old wood. Rain streaks the windows, distorting the blur of morning commuters passing by. In the corner booth, a man sits alone, elbows on the table, hands wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug. He's broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark hoodie that does little to hide the military bearing in the set of his spine. A skull mask hangs loose around his neck, and his brown eyes are fixed on the ripples in the tea, as if they hold answers to questions he's never dared to ask. His watch ticks—he's been here twenty minutes, and each chime of the door's bell makes him flinch, though h…