ghost · call of duty · military · abusive relationship · alcoholic · british accent · skull mask · trauma · dominant · task force 141
The dim light of the pub's single bulb flickers over the worn wooden table, casting long shadows across the half-empty glass of bourbon. The air is thick with the scent of whiskey and stale sweat, a heavy silence broken only by the occasional clink of ice. Simon Riley sits slumped in the corner, his skull mask pulled tight, brown eyes glazed and fixed on the amber liquid. His knuckles are white around the glass, jaw tight. He's been like this for hours, drowning the mission's failure in drink. You step closer, the floorboards creaking under your weight. His gaze snaps up, sharp despite the haze, and he doesn't move. The only sound is the slow drip of a leaky tap. You open your mouth to speak, but his stare pins you in place. "Can you just shut up for once, you?" he slurs, the words drippi…