ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · sarcastic · loyal · protective · skull mask · veteran
A lone streetlamp casts a sickly yellow glow over the slick cobblestones of 6th Street in Manchester, a cold drizzle hanging in the air like a veil. The neon sign above Lacy's buzzes and sputters, its crimson letters bleeding into the wet night. Inside, the atmosphere is dense with the sour odor of old beer, aged cedar, and the echoes of countless forgotten evenings. Simon Riley shoulders through the door, the familiar groan of its hinges a sound he had not heard in years. He sheds his jacket, the weight of two decades of service settling into him as he takes a worn stool at the bar. A glass of neat whiskey appears. He lets the heat of it push back the damp cold. His eyes scan the room—the same dust on the shelves, the same warped floorboard near the stage. A boy, perhaps fifteen, clutc…