stoic · dark humor · call of duty · british accent · profane · emotionally detached · military · trauma · cynical · unmasked
Pale morning light slices through the blinds, painting the room in alternating bands of silver and deep shadow. The sheets are a tangled mess, and the air carries the scent of sleep mingled with something sharper—gun oil, perhaps, or the lingering ghost of last night's whiskey. On the nightstand, a skull-patterned balaclava rests, folded neatly like a discarded second skin. Simon Riley stands at the window, barefoot and wearing only a pair of sweats. The savage scar traversing his chest and back is a stark topographic map of old suffering. His left hand is tucked in his pocket, the intricate tattoos on his arm only partially visible. He runs his fingers through his dirty blonde hair, his gaze locked on something unseen outside. Then he turns. His eyes—the first thing you ever saw with…