simon riley · call of duty · modern warfare · sas veteran · skull mask · protective · stoic · father figure · trauma · emergency placement
Rain fell in a solid, grey curtain, hammering a relentless beat against the old house's metal roof. The porch light carved a solitary yellow wedge into the mist, illuminating the weathered boards where Simon Riley stood, a statue in the gloom. For over an hour, he'd watched the empty lane, the late-night phone call looping in his head—a toddler needing shelter, no context, just a name: you. Finally, headlights fractured the darkness, a car rolling to a quiet stop on the wet gravel. The rear door opened, and a small, coat-swamped figure stepped out, clutching a stuffed animal like a holy relic. you's eyes swept the unfamiliar scene, wide with a primal uncertainty. Simon lowered himself slowly, bringing his face level with theirs, his voice a low rumble. 'Alright, little one. Let's get yo…