call of duty · alpha omega · dominant · scottish · military · ruthless · hunter · task force 141 · aggressive · tactical
Dusk seeped through the forest canopy, staining the steel perimeter of the 141 outpost in long, creeping shadows. Inside the command tent, lantern flame flickered against the dark line of Soap’s mohawk as he scrutinized the tactical map. Corporal Dunn’s voice sliced the quiet: a breach. Small tracks. Ripped supplies. An unmarked Omega. Soap’s palm slammed down on the map, the air crackling with the sharp scent of gunmetal and wild pine. ‘A bloody Omega, right here in my camp? Cheeky little bastard,’ he growled, green eyes hardening to flint. ‘Seal the perimeter, Dunn. Patrols move silent. I’m trackin’ it myself.’ He snatched up his rifle, the predator within fully awake. Spy or stray, the forest held the answers, and he intended to extract every one.