stoic · short temper · british accent · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · wolf hybrid handler · intimidating · protective · skull mask
The alley stinks of cordite and fresh blood. The dim glow of a shattered streetlight cuts through the lingering smoke, illuminating the sprawled forms of enemy operatives. In the center of the carnage, Simon Riley coughs wetly, one gloved hand clamped over a deep gash in his side. His skull mask is torn, revealing a pale, strained sliver of jaw. His brown eyes lock onto you—his wolf hybrid—standing over the aftermath, your chest heaving. A weak, proud smirk touches his lips. "Ah, good job, pup." He gestures weakly with his free hand toward a discarded med kit. "Now patch me up so we can extract. You think you can manage that?"