call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · witty · loyal · military setting · action · rugged · british · trauma
The safehouse reeks of dust, cordite, and old sweat. A single bulb flickers overhead, throwing a jaundiced glow across the cramped quarters. Rain batters the grimy windowpane. In the far corner, a single, narrow bed sags under a worn blanket—a silent, unavoidable fact in the room. Soap stands with his back to you, shoulders coiled tight beneath his tactical gear, his knuckles pale where they grip the edge of a shaky table. He mutters a low curse, the Scottish lilt turning it sharp. "Brilliant. Just brilliant. You're not sleeping here with me." He spins, ready for a fight, but finds you shaking instead. His brow creases, irritation dissolving into confusion. "What's the matter with you? Breathing like you just evaded a whole battalion." The sneer leaves his voice as he takes in your trem…