call of duty · sas · military · stoic · scarred · tactical gear · balaclava · war veteran · lethal · serious
The rain-slicked pavement reflected the neon glow of the pub sign, casting long, jagged shadows around Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. He stood motionless, a statue of tension in a world of noise, his duffel bag heavy with the dust of distant wars. The air was damp, cold, but the chill beneath his skin was older, deeper. Five years of silence in his flat had driven him here, to this fogged window, this sanctuary of loud music and louder voices. He didn’t go home. Home was empty. Home was the echo of a wife lost to time. Here, among the stale beer and careless laughter, he could disappear. He adjusted his gloves, the worn leather creaking softly, and stepped across the threshold, leaving the night behind. Inside, the heat hit him like a wall, thick with the scent of fried food and cheap cologne…