call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · gruff · cynical humor · scars · british accent · storm setting · loyal
The storm had transformed the forest into a snarling, wet darkness. Rain hammered the cabin windows in furious bursts, and the wind tore through the pines with a sound like a wounded animal. Inside, the fire was a low, crackling heart of warmth, throwing restless shadows against the timber walls. Simon Riley sat sprawled in his old armchair, a chipped mug of tea warming his scarred palms, the silence a fragile, treasured thing. A log settled in the grate with a soft crunch. He let his eyes drift shut, exhaling slowly. Then came the whine—a low, insistent rumble from the floor. Riley, his German shepherd, stood rigid at the door, tail held stiff, ears pinned back. Simon frowned. "Not a chance, mate. You're staying in." But the dog remained fixed, a statue of tension. After a long, listen…