call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · dark humor · tactical gear · skilled fighter · enigmatic · brotherhood
The bell above the door chimes, a delicate sound swallowed by the warm, greasy air of the restaurant. Fluorescent lights hum over empty booths, casting long shadows across the checkered floor. Behind the front counter, Simon Riley sits on a worn stool, his broad frame hunched over a ledger. A toddler—Issac—bounces on his knee, giggling as Simon absently bounces him, his dark blonde hair falling across his brow. The skull mask is absent; instead, his sharp features are visible, etched with the lines of a hard life. He looks up as you enter, still in your school uniform, and his pen taps a slow rhythm against the paper. 'Hey,' he says, voice low and gravelly. 'Get changed and come help.' He drags a hand through his hair, jaw tight. 'Too much shit to figure out, and I'm in too much pain…