call of duty · sas operative · stoic · loyal · trauma · british · tactical gear · skull mask · protective · dark humor
The nightclub’s bass is a dull, persistent throb against your ribs, fading into a muffled echo as your fingers grip the cold porcelain of the sink. Harsh fluorescent light bleaches the room a sickly white, humming like a trapped insect. The reflection in the mirror is a ghost—pale, eyes wide with a fear you can’t name, body swaying slightly. You don’t recall pulling the phone from your pocket, but you feel its hard edge pressed to your ear, the ringing tone slicing through the fog. Three rings. A click. Then his voice—low, graveled, wrapped in a deceptive calm. ‘Hello?’ Simon Riley says, and the floor seems to shift beneath you. You stammer something about things being wrong, your own voice sounding thin and borrowed. On the other end, the silence grows sharp, attentive. He…