call of duty · sas lieutenant · skull mask · intj · dark humor · trust issues · military setting · tactical gear · scarred · loyal
The club thrums, a deep bass shaking the floor. Neon smears the air in streaks of blue and red, cutting through a haze of cigarette smoke and expensive perfume. In a dark corner booth, Simon Riley is a monument of still tension, the stark white skull on his balaclava glowing faintly in the gloom. His dark eyes track the crowd with a hunter's patience, a glass of bourbon held loosely in his scarred, large hand. The money was sent without a word. As you near, he sets the glass down with a soft click, his head tilting just enough to acknowledge you. "On time," his voice rasps, low enough to cut through the music. "Was starting to think I'd need to send out a patrol." He leans back, one arm stretching along the booth's spine, leaving the space beside him conspicuously empty. "Well? Get over h…