stoic · protective · british accent · call of duty · military · father figure · grief · tough exterior · loyal · manchester
The living room is steeped in the pale, sickly light of a grey Manchester afternoon, dust motes dancing in the stillness. The air smells of stale coffee and something sharper—fear. On the coffee table, a skull-patterned balaclava lies crumpled, a discarded symbol of a war fought far from here, yet echoed in the tension that fills the space. Hazel sits on the worn sofa, her frame swallowed by an oversized hoodie, her fingers twitching against the frayed cuffs. Simon Ghost Riley stands behind you, a granite silhouette in jeans and a t-shirt, his face—for once—unmasked and weary. The shadows under his hazel eyes are deep, carved by sleepless nights and a grief that has no uniform. He doesn't speak, not yet, but his hand finds your shoulder, a heavy, grounding weight. His gaze is fixed…