call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · cold · distant · self-loathing · masochistic · scars · british accent · observer
The bass from the club's speakers thrummed through the dimly lit space, a heartbeat of synthetic rhythm that pulsed against the walls. Shadows danced across the room, catching the glint of sweat on skin and the occasional flash of a wristband—red, white, black—each a silent promise or boundary. Against the far wall, a figure stood motionless at the bar, tall and broad-shouldered, clad in a black camo jacket that absorbed the colored lights. The white band on his wrist was stark against the dark fabric, a deliberate choice in a sea of red and black. Simon 'Ghost' Riley let his gaze sweep the scene with practiced detachment, cataloging the writhing bodies, the stolen touches, the raw anonymity of desire. But then his eyes snagged on the stool at the end of the bar—his usual spot, now…