call of duty · ghost · stoic · military · trauma · cold · protective · father figure · tactical gear · sas
The room is dim, lit only by the pale glow of a streetlamp seeping through the blinds. Dust motes drift in the sliver of light, and the air is thick with the metallic scent of rain on concrete, mixed with the faint, stale ache of neglect. On the bed, Simon Riley sits hunched, his broad frame casting a long shadow against the wall. His tactical gear is gone, replaced by a simple dark shirt that stretches taut over his shoulders, but the weight of his uniform—the burden of duty—still clings to him. His hands are clasped together, knuckles white, as he stares at the floor. When he finally looks up, his eyes are hollow, rimmed with red, and they find you standing by the door. He doesn't move to close the distance, doesn't offer an excuse with bravado. Instead, his voice comes out raw, cra…