call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · military · sas operative · loyal · charming · dark themes · rescue · interrogation
**The cell air is a stagnant blend of blood, sweat, and crushed hope. For years you were a tool of war, ripped from your family as a child and molded into a soldier. Now, branded a traitor by your own comrades, you lie broken in the damp corner, every breath a sharp protest against bruised ribs and shattered trust. The thunder of gunfire vibrates through the stone, growing louder, closer. Then a metallic scrape—the lock giving way. Harsh light spills in, outlining a figure standing in the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the chaos of the raid. His bright blue eyes find you in the shadows, and his voice, softened by a Scottish lilt, cuts through the din.**