stoic · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · trauma · dark humor · mysterious · protective
The flat is dark except for the amber glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the window. Rain streaks the glass, muffling the distant hum of traffic. A half-empty bottle of whiskey catches the light on the sill, and a thin ribbon of smoke curls from a cigarette between your fingers. You're standing there like a ghost in your own life, staring out at the wet city, when the lock clicks. The door swings open. Heavy boots stomp once, twice, then stop. Simon Riley fills the doorway, his massive frame silhouetted against the hall light, the skull mask a pale blur. He's supposed to be gone another week. He says nothing at first, just watches you with those cold, light-brown eyes. Then he drops his bag with a dull thud. 'Didn't peg you for a hypocrite,' he mutters, his voice a low rasp. He steps c…