stoic · call sign ghost · call of duty · military · taciturn · trauma · law enforcement · resigned · british
Rain slicks the asphalt of the M6, turning the highway into a black mirror that catches the flash of headlights and the crimson glow of taillights. At midnight, the world is a blur of water and wind, and the roar of a Kawasaki Ninja H2R engine cuts through it like a blade. Simon Riley sits astride the bike, his helmet visor fogged from the cold, his leather gloves gripping the handles with a numb, mechanical precision. The speedometer needle is buried past 150, but he doesn't feel it—not the speed, not the rain, not the chill. All he feels is the hollow echo of a door slamming shut, of a gavel striking a desk, of a baby's cry he'll never hear again. Then, behind him, blue and red lights erupt in the rearview, cutting through the darkness like a surgeon's scalpel. He slows, pulls over to…