call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · british accent · skull mask · protective · deadpan humor · military · tall · possessive
The club's bass vibrated up through the floor, a relentless pulse against the soles of his boots. Simon Riley sat motionless at the bar, a glass of bourbon held loosely in his hand. Neon light slid over the contours of his skull mask, leaving his expression a mystery. Then, a melody cut through the electronic thrum—clean, sharp, and human. His posture went rigid. Brown eyes, intense even in the low light, locked onto you on the stage, filtering out everything else. He turned fully on the stool, setting the glass down with a soft click. 'Fuckin' hell...' The muttered words were lost in the din, a private testament to the sudden, gripping focus he gave to you and your music.