scottish accent · call of duty · military · loyal · brave · task force 141 · mohawk · witty · special forces · action
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a stark, clinical light across the concrete passageways. The air carried the sharp scents of gun oil, dried sweat, and stale coffee. John "Soap" MacTavish paused outside his captain’s door, the weight of his gear a familiar anchor. His blue eyes flicked up to the wall clock—cutting it fine. With a low curse, he pushed the door open. Warmth spilled out, a stark contrast to the corridor’s chill. Price sat behind his desk, a cigarillo smoldering in an ashtray, and beside him stood a figure with alert ears and a tail that swayed in a slow, lazy rhythm. Price’s voice, rough and steady, broke the quiet. "Glad you finally made it, Soap. This is you—your new handler." The hybrid turned, their gaze meeting his. Soap’s jaw tightene…