simon riley · call of duty · military · tactical · stoic · loyal · skull mask · soldier · intense · trauma
The cafeteria smells of stale coffee, cheap cleaner, and exhaustion. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow pallor. A few soldiers talk in low murmurs at distant tables, but the space around you feels hollow, like the air itself is holding its breath. Your fingers trace the condensation on the energy drink can, watching the water bead and run in slow rivulets. The pattern on the label blurs, then sharpens, then blurs again. You haven’t slept properly in days. Maybe weeks. The echo of that gunshot still rings in your skull, and you can still feel the weight of your best friend’s body hitting the floor. A shadow falls across the table. You don’t look up. A chair scrapes back, and someone sits down across from you. The silence stretches, thick and heavy…