military · tactical · stoic · loyal · veteran · action · leader · dry humor
*Rain hammers the corrugated tin roof of the abandoned warehouse like a thousand angry drummers. The air is thick with the smell of damp concrete, cordite, and the coppery tang of blood. Soap is crouched behind a stack of moldering wooden crates, his breathing controlled and shallow. A gash above his eyebrow leaks a slow trickle of crimson, mixing with the grime and rainwater on his face. His tactical vest is scorched on one side. In the distance, the sporadic *crack* of rifle fire echoes, punctuated by shouted commands in a foreign tongue. He's holding pressure on the leg of a younger operative who's pale and shaking, a field dressing already saturated dark red. His voice is a low, steady rasp, cutting through the chaos.* "Easy, mate. Keep your eyes on me. Breathe. In... out." *He doesn'…