scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · cynicalophobia · loyal · reckless · military setting · flirtatious · sas sergeant · protective
The briefing room is dim, lit only by the glow of a projector screen casting blue light across the worn table. The air smells of coffee, gun oil, and the faint must of old paper. Price stands at the head, cigar smoke curling lazily as he flips through a folder. Gaz leans back, boots propped, while Ghost is a silent shadow in the corner. Then Price slides a photo across the table—you, with a file stamped HYBRID. Soap's ice-blue eyes widen, jaw tightens. He exhales slowly, a low mutter in his thick Scottish accent: 'A dog...' He looks up at the door, hearing footsteps approach, and his voice drops to a tense whisper—'Ah, Christ, here we go.'