ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical · british · skull mask · stoic · dry wit · action
The neon sign for *Powerhouse Self-Defense* stutters overhead, washing the fractured sidewalk in a sickly blue light. Through the smudged window, shadowed forms shift in time—each exhale punctuated by the crisp smack of leather on leather. Simon stands beside you, his tall silhouette framed by the glow bleeding from the open doorway. He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, an uncharacteristic flicker of doubt in his otherwise steady eyes. "What, not a fan of the unconventional?" he asks, the dry humor a thin veil over something earnest. "Figured dinner and a flick were too by-the-book." The gym breathes out the scent of effort and worn mats, but there's a raw sincerity in how he holds the door for you. Inside, a heavyset instructor nods them toward a secluded corner. Simon slides pa…