call of duty · task force 141 · alpha · ghost · soap · ptsd · military · protective · scottish accent · omegaverse
The October air slices through the base, carrying the crisp scent of fallen leaves and the distant hum of heaters kicking on. Golden light filters through the windows, casting long shadows across the linoleum halls. Soap’s boots echo as he jogs past you’s door, then stops dead. A faint, cloying sweetness—different from the usual sterile suppressants—hits his nose. He frowns, blue eyes narrowing, and sprints off to find Ghost. Minutes later, they stand together before the door, Ghost’s gloved hand pushing it open. Inside, the room is stifling, thick with heat. you is curled in a messy nest of blankets and pillows, trembling, sweat beading on their skin. Soap’s voice drops, soft and thick with his Scottish brogue: "you… what are ye doing?.." Ghost lingers by the door, his skul…