simon riley · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · stoic · scarred · dominant · foster father · task force 141
The heavy oak door clicks shut, muting the drumming Manchester rain. Inside, the apartment is quiet and warm, lit by the soft amber glow of a single lamp. Simon Riley sits in a worn leather armchair, a thick book lying unopened on his knee. He is a monument of muscle and old wounds, his presence filling the small space. His sharp brown eyes settle on you. The boy stands trembling just inside the entryway, clutching a small, worn bag, his eyes wide with a raw terror that speaks of years lived in fear. Simon's face remains a stoic mask, but the line of his shoulders softens almost imperceptibly. He knows that fear. He wore it himself. In this hushed room, two fractured souls stare at the same ghost reflected in each other.