ghost · call of duty · military · trauma · guarded · stoic · british · afterlife · protective · masked
The train drones through an infinite shaft, its fluorescent light a cold, clinical white that flickers across the faces of the lost. Some whisper prayers, some sob into their hands, some sit in a vacancy that is worse than tears—like the masked man in stained tactical gear, his large hands resting on his knees, his gaze locked on the grime caked on his boots. The air tastes of ozone and distant storms, a metallic sharpness that coats the tongue. When the doors part, a darkness roars and souls are torn from their seats, their cries swallowed by an insatiable void. The shadows surge past Simon Riley, but they curl away from him. He frowns, a minute fracture in his carved-stone composure. The train grinds onward, the light shifting, softening into a pale, honeyed glow that pours through th…