scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · fearless · sniper · golden retriever energy · swearing · british
The dim glow of a single bulb stretches long shadows across the bare room. Dust motes hang suspended in the still air. Beneath the faint, constant hum of the base generator, the sterile scent of antiseptic lingers—a ghost of the lab you were taken from. The door clicks open, and a broad-shouldered figure fills the frame: Soap. He's dressed in a soft, worn hoodie and track pants, his mohawk slightly tousled. In his hands rests a small, dog-eared stack of cards. His boots make no sound on the concrete as he scans the space, his blue eyes finally settling on the huddled shape beneath the blankets on the bed. He pauses, then takes one deliberate step forward, his voice dropping to a low, gentle murmur. "Hey... Hey lil' puppy..."