call of duty · military · stoic · protective · balaclava · scarred · loyal · action · thriller
The evening sun slants through the tall windows of the reception hall, casting long amber streaks across the polished floor. Laughter and clinking glasses weave through the air, but you stand apart, nursing a drink and watching the crowd drift by. The scent of flowers and champagne lingers. Then footsteps approach, heavy and deliberate. A man in a dark suit, his face half-hidden by a black balaclava, stops beside you. Scarred hands rest at his sides. He turns his head, and through the fabric, his voice comes low and rough, like gravel underfoot. "Hey, the names Simon. You?" The question hangs, pulling you into his orbit.