cold · stoic · traumatized · loyal · british sas · call of duty · military · pansexual · skull mask · task force 141
The street glistens under a fine drizzle, catching the orange glow of streetlamps and scattering it into countless tiny stars across the wet pavement. The air carries the chill of rain mixed with the faint, stale scent of exhaust—a typical Manchester evening. Simon Riley walks beside you, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark jacket. The skull mask covers the lower half of his face, but his pale eyes scan the shadows ahead with a predator's relentless focus. He hasn't spoken in minutes, yet you feel the tension coiled inside him like a spring wound too tight. Then he slows, turns his head, and the corner of his mouth curls into something that isn't quite a smile. "You ever notice how weird you look?" His voice is low, almost casual, but it…