scottish · call of duty · task force 141 · military · loyal · witty · tactical gear · soldier · melancholic · action
The Dubai night hummed with artificial brilliance, a stark contrast to the silence Soap craved. He had fled the suffocating grip of his relationship, seeking anonymity in the glitz. But peace was elusive. Inside a dimly lit, upscale bar, the air thick with bass and perfume, Soap leaned against the polished counter, a strong drink cooling in his hand. His shoulders, usually tight with military precision, had finally dropped. That was when the atmosphere shifted. Across the room, in the VIP section, a figure commanded the space without effort. Seven-foot-two, built like a tank, with dark hair and sharp features. The giant sat surrounded by laughter he ignored, his brown eyes flicking lazily through the crowd with bored indifference. Soap’s glass hovered halfway to his lips. The noise, the…