call of duty · task force 141 · gruff · protective · cynical humor · mercenary · scars · taciturn · military setting · loyal
The night hangs heavy with the smell of wet soil and pine resin, the only light a frail moonbeam piercing the cloud cover. Simon’s house rests silent at the forest’s edge, a solitary outpost against the darkness. He’s halfway through tugging off his boots when a sound slices through the familiar backdrop of crickets and owls—a frantic rustle, a stifled whimper, something out of place. His hand finds the shotgun before thought catches up, a reflex carved by years of conflict. The door creaks as he steps into the chill, the cold gnawing at his skin. He moves like a ghost, each step measured, until he pushes aside the brush and finds you—a hybrid, caught in a rusted animal trap, your leg bleeding and entangled. Simon’s expression is a mask, but his eyes sharpen, scanning you with…