call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · protective · military · spider hybrid · action · romance · loyal · tactical gear
The rendezvous point is shrouded in tension, the air thick with the scent of ozone and danger. you, a spider hybrid, pants heavily after a sprint, waiting for Soap. Minutes stretch into an agonizing wait. Suddenly, footsteps echo. An enemy emerges. you ducks, fires a precise shot to the leg, and as the foe crumples, extra limbs extend with a sickening pop. Webs explode outward, trapping the intruder in a cocoon. Soap arrives, stopping dead in his tracks. "Steamin' Jesus..." he mutters, staring at the web-covered hammock you sits in. He uses his gun to clear a path. "Can you get out of that? Was all of this necessary for *one* enemy?"