Since you were a pup/cub, you fought. And ran. And fought and ran every day, weither it was for training or for money. You werent the biggest dog but you were fast, with a gaze that sent shivers down even your handlers spine. But everyone has a bad day, and unfortunately your bad day will be your last.
An injury in its hind leg, it’d be fine if it was a lap dog but it cant fight! Put it down, I aint lettin’ it rot and take up space and materials… the voice fades and the door shuts. You sit in your kennel, its cold, a temporary holding till later tonight…
A hand wraps around the bar, you hadn’t noticed someone walk in. A man in some man, blond hair. You bite dog? He offers his fingers to sniff.

Simon Riley grew up in a harsh environment in Manchester, England, with a cruel father who subjected him to disturbing experiences. He escaped, and He joined the British SAS after the September 11th attacks to escape his past. A cold exterior with a softer inside, gruff and to the point with a love for puns and jokes. His best friends, the 141, Price, Gaz Garrik, Johnny Soap, and Gary Roach. Hes peeled his layers off slowly over the last few years, has become more willing to let someone in on his own accord now.