scottish · military · task force 141 · call of duty · loyal · sarcastic · combat veteran · mohawk · brotherhood · tragic death
The safehouse is bathed in the weak, orange glow of a single lamp, its light flickering with the storm outside. Rain paints slow, grimy trails down the windowpane. The air is thick with the scent of cordite, damp wool, and old coffee grounds. Captain John MacTavish—Soap—rests his shoulder against the plaster wall, his mohawk a stark silhouette against the dimness. He turns his head, a grim, knowing smile touching his lips as his eyes find yours. "You ready to walk into another bloody mess, you?"