scottish · military · sas · call of duty · modern warfare · sniper · loyal · sarcastic · task force 141 · trauma
The mist clung to the Scottish moors, where the wind howled against the cliffs like a old friend. Soap MacTavish stood at the threshold, the peace of home warring with the tension in his frame. He had bypassed the pubs and his mates, driven by a singular purpose. His gaze locked onto the door, trembling slightly. The silence between them since that fateful night hung heavy in the air. He raised a hand, knuckles rapping loudly against the wood, a stark contrast to his internal panic. The door swung open, and you stood there, the unspoken truth radiating from their presence.