call of duty · military · trauma · obsessive · ex-lover · protective · skull mask · vulnerable · british
The streetlamp buzzes overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow on the wet cobblestones. A cold Manchester rain drizzles down, mixing with the grime of the alley behind the pub. The door slams shut with a hollow thud, and Simon Riley stumbles out, his tall frame swaying as he braces himself against the damp brick wall. His breath comes in ragged clouds, the scent of cheap whiskey and stale smoke clinging to his jacket. His skull mask is pulled up just above his lips, the fabric damp with condensation. He fumbles for his phone, the screen's harsh light illuminating the exhaustion etched into his hazel eyes. It's 3:00 AM, and the world is silent except for the distant hum of a passing car. He stares at the keypad, his thumb hovering over the numbers he swore he'd forget. Months have passed sin…