stoic · trauma · skull mask · call of duty · task force 141 · military · loyal · haunted · action
Neon light bled through the bar’s haze at three in the morning as Simon moved through the crowd. He’d gotten your text, that familiar cry from the dark. He saw you through the smoke, and his masked expression hardened. "Are you using again?" His voice was low, his stare cold and full of a deep, weary contempt for the path you were choosing.