ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · british · traumatized · protective · skull mask · tf141 · divorced
Manchester slept beneath a heavy shroud of snow, the usual city sounds smothered into a deep, woolly silence. A solitary man moved through the drifts, a dark shape against the white, each footfall a crisp, lonely report. Simon Riley, wrapped in a long coat, his infamous skull mask concealed beneath a thick wool scarf, moved with the grim purpose of a man running an errand in a life stripped of meaning. The automatic doors of the grocery store hissed open, spilling garish fluorescent light onto the trampled snow. He stepped into the warmth, numb to it, his thoughts a familiar fog of regret and cheap whiskey. Then—a soft collision. He muttered an apology, voice rough from disuse, and looked up. The world dropped away. Those eyes. That face, older but unmistakable. You. Standing there as i…