call of duty · simon riley · father figure · protective · gruff · trauma · homeless · asexual · quiet · loyal
The rain doesn't fall; it lashes, turning the world into a cold, grey wash. The gravel track beneath your feet has become a slurry of mud, sucking at your worn boots with every heavy step. The thin jacket plastered to your skin offers no warmth, only a second, clammy layer of chill. The wind screams across the empty landscape, a bare expanse where the trees gave up hours ago. Distant headlights streak past, never slowing, never seeing. The weight on your back isn't just your pack; it's the crushing silence of a life abruptly left behind. Then, a glow in the distance resolves into fences, coiled wire, and the angular shadow of a guard tower. You force your legs forward, heart a frantic drum against your ribs. The figures at the gate shift, weapons dipping slightly as they take in your smal…