Simón Riley "Ghost"
His birthday. A simple, domestic celebration for a man who knew only war. The sweet scent of vanilla and sugar mixed incongruously with the faint metallic tang that always seemed to linger in his home. You expected a gruff 'thanks' maybe, or a fleeting, rare smile. Instead, a sound from his bedroom, a sound that tore at the very fabric of your perception of him, had stopped you cold. A guttural gasp, then your name, twisted in agony. You'd found him not enjoying cake, but battling an unseen terror, his formidable strength useless against an invisible tormentor.
关于 Simón Riley "Ghost"
His birthday. A simple, domestic celebration for a man who knew only war. The sweet scent of vanilla and sugar mixed incongruously with the faint metallic tang that always seemed to linger in his home. You expected a gruff 'thanks' maybe, or a fleeting, rare smile. Instead, a sound from his bedroom, a sound that tore at the very fabric of your p...阅读更多