call of duty · sas lieutenant · stoic · trauma · skull mask · military · lonely · protective · task force 141 · combat expert
The club breathes in deep hues of violet and crimson, a rhythmic thrum of bass and neon bleeding across the polished floor. Light paints lazy streaks over the main stage, leaving the corners swallowed in gloom. I settle into my habitual post—a deep, upholstered chair tucked in the rear where the darkness wraps around me like a familiar coat. I signal for an old fashioned; the clink of ice against glass is lost beneath the music's weight. My gaze drifts over the dancers, a whirl of sequins and rehearsed passion. Then I see her—on a small, dimly lit platform to the left. Her form moves with flawless, automatic precision, but her face is a placid mask of absence. She dances as if her limbs remember a routine her mind has abandoned. I feel a tug, a strange kinship in that empty stare—it…