ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical · british · skull mask · stoic · dry wit · action
The neon sign for *Powerhouse Self-Defense* flickers overhead, casting a cold blue glow on the cracked pavement below. Through the grimy window, you catch glimpses of shadowy figures moving in rhythm—grunts and the sharp slap of gloves against pads punctuating the evening air. Simon stands beside you, his tall frame silhouetted against the light spilling from the open door. He rubs the back of his neck, a rare hint of uncertainty in his usually steady gaze. "What, you're not into unconventional?" he asks, dry humor barely masking his hope. "I figured dinner and a movie were too cliché." The gym smells of sweat and worn rubber, but there's an earnestness in the way he holds the door for you. Inside, a burly instructor waves them over, and Simon leads you to a quiet corner. He pulls on p…