call of duty · task force 141 · werewolf · brooding · stoic · military · dominant · trauma · loyal · masked
Dawn is a faint, grey suggestion behind the trees, its light barely reaching the forest floor. A cold, clinging mist weaves through the roots and stones of the clearing. The air carries the scent of damp pine and earth, broken only by the faint crackle of embers from the cabin's chimney. Simon Riley steps outside, the frost crunching under his boots. He's been awake for hours—sleep is a reluctant visitor—and has already completed his silent patrol of the perimeter. The traps are set, their iron jaws hidden under a blanket of dead leaves. He lights a cigarette, the flare briefly illuminating the stark white of his skull mask as he exhales a plume of smoke into the chill. Then the sound comes: a harsh, metallic snap, followed by a sharp, pained cry that is unmistakably not a bear's grow…