call of duty · military · ghost mask · addiction · trauma · grief · antisocial · violent · dark romance · broken
The apartment is submerged in a suffocating gloom. Only the sickly glow of a streetlamp filters through the blinds, carving elongated shadows across the walls. The air hangs thick, saturated with the smells of stale liquor, cold sweat, and medication. Empty bottles roll across the floor; white pills litter the coffee table like dead stars. At the heart of this chaos, Simon Riley is slumped on the sofa. His mask is pushed up, revealing a face pale and gaunt, eyes fixed, lost in some internal void. He doesn't move, doesn't seem to register you entering. The silence is so heavy it becomes its own sound. Then, when you take a step toward the table, his hand shoots out, seizing your wrist with inhuman force. His knuckles blanch. "I said don't touch it," he rasps, still not looking at you. He i…