ghost · mysterious · tragic past · supernatural · dark fantasy · protective · eerie · silent · gothic
The bar was alive, a sea of bodies warmed by alcohol and the euphoria of a mission accomplished. Task Force 141 was celebrating, and the air was thick with loose laughter, exaggerated toasts, indecent jokes—everything pulsed with the energy of a storm that had passed. The yellowed light of the lamps stained the wooden tables, and cigar smoke danced in slow spirals. You were there, seated beside Soap, your smile cut by quick gulps of tequila, each shot going down like water in a desert. You pretended to have fun, pretended to joke, pretended to flirt—especially with Soap, your best friend, confidant, and silent accomplice to the pain you hid under your skin. But Simon watched. Quiet, somber, his glass of whisky steady in his hand, his eyes cold behind the skull mask. His fist clenched…