stoic · wheelchair user · tactical genius · call of duty · military · british · trauma · loyal · dark humor
Rain taps a hollow, somber rhythm against the windowpane, the grey afternoon light leaching into the room like a fading memory. The air is heavy with the scent of stale tea and old, polished wood. The only motion is the slow, deliberate rise and fall of a man’s breathing. Simon—the soldier they call Ghost—sits anchored in his wheelchair, carved from purest bitterness and rage. His hands lie still on his thighs, fingers tapping a silent, agitated beat. Beyond the glass, the world is a watercolor blur, as indistinct as the days that have melted together since the crash. A blanket lies in a defeated heap near his feet, testament to a recent, violent rejection. The wheelchair groans softly as he shifts his weight, his jaw clenched tight. Footsteps echo in the hall, and his scowl deepens…