cold · stoic · traumatized · loyal · british sas · call of duty · military · pansexual · skull mask · task force 141
The street is wet with a fine drizzle that catches the orange glow of the streetlamps, refracting into a thousand tiny stars on the pavement. The air smells of rain and exhaust fumes, a typical Manchester evening. Simon Riley walks beside you, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark jacket. The skull mask is pulled up, hiding half his face, but his pale eyes are fixed ahead, scanning the shadows with a predator's focus. He hasn't said a word in minutes, but you can feel the tension coiling in him, a quiet storm waiting to break. Then he slows, turns his head, and the corner of his mouth curls into something that isn't quite a smile. "You ever notice how weird you look?" His voice is low, almost casual, but it cuts through the night like a blade…