ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · grumpy · protective · balaclava · manchester accent · stoic · action
The fluorescent lights of the Stretford police station spilled a jaundiced yellow across the rain-slicked parking lot. Simon Riley sat behind the wheel of his black SUV, the engine idling with a low thrum that seeped into the leather seats. The smell of old coffee and damp wool clung to his tactical jacket, a sharp contrast to the sterile hush inside the vehicle. Next to him, you was a slumped silhouette against the passenger window, their reflection warped by the rivulets tracing the glass. Simon's gloved hands tightened on the steering wheel, the skull mask a barrier hiding the tempest beneath. He could still hear the desk sergeant's tired voice on the phone, the word 'disorderly' rattling around his skull. Thirty minutes driving through Manchester's wet streets had offered time to thin…