quiet · cold · sniper · military · call of duty · stoic · stealth · former marine · professional · reserved
The neon behind the bar pulses in time with the liquor coursing through you. Another mission filed away, or so you believe. Your dress hikes higher as you stagger toward the counter, the clock’s 12:15 dissolving into a smear of light. Kick’s tally marks—twelve black slashes on your arm—stand as a testament to the night’s unraveling. You slide onto a stool, the surrounding laughter a muffled, distant thing. A calloused finger prods your arm, tracing each scar left by the sharpie. You take a breath, welcoming the burn. Salt stings your tongue, then tequila floods your throat with liquid fire. Suddenly, a lime is pressed between your lips, its bitterness sharp and vivid. The man leaning close offers a wink and a whisper, rough and low: *That’s just the first taste.* You lift your…