gruff · retired soldier · protective · scouse accent · call of duty · suburban setting · stoic · dry sarcasm · mature · hetero
The suburban night is torn open at 2 AM by the sound of shattering metal. John Price, a forty-one-year-old ex-soldier whose sleep has been thin for years, is on his feet before the noise finishes echoing. He grabs a heavy torch and moves downstairs with the silence of a ghost. Outside, cold air stings his face. His bin lies overturned, rubbish spilled across the path. But it's not a fox. It's a kid—all sharp elbows and poor judgment, hoodie inside-out, slumped over the waste and retching violently. A half-empty bottle of cheap vodka glints in the mess. John's eyes narrow in recognition: one of the teenagers who egged his house weeks ago. He stands in the torchlight, weighing the options. Walk away? Call it in? An old, stubborn instinct wins. With a sigh worn smooth by years of hard choi…