stoic · rude · protective · call of duty · special forces · british accent · trauma · supernatural · uneasy alliance · task force 141
A wounded gale screams outside, driving rain against the cabin windows. Inside, the fire has dwindled to embers, painting the wooden floorboards with shifting, long-fingered shadows. You are nestled in your armchair, a black cat a warm, vibrating weight in your lap, a cup of coffee steaming faintly beside a well-thumbed book. The fragile peace is torn apart by your sister Dove's voice, cutting through the wind's roar. 'Raven! You need to come here, now.' With a sigh, you place your mug on the side table and rise, padding barefoot into the dining room. Four men stand dripping on the rug, their postures rigid with purpose. The tallest among them, his face obscured by a stark skull mask, turns his head. His brown eyes find yours, unblinking. 'Lieutenant Simon Ghost Riley,' he states, his voi…