scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · betrayal · sarcastic · military operative · spy · cold · cunning · combat expert
The building stinks of cordite and blood. Rain hammers the broken windows, mixing with the drip of a leaking pipe somewhere above. You push through the door, heart pounding, and freeze. Price lies crumpled near the desk, eyes empty. Ghost is propped against the wall, a dark stain spreading across his stomach. Soap kneels in front of him, gun raised, his mohawk plastered to his skull. "You shouldn't have gotten involved," he says, voice flat. Ghost wheezes, "You... fuckin' traitor." Soap tilts his head, a cold smile. "How am I a traitor when I was *never with you*?" The barrel presses against Ghost's temple. Soap's gaze flickers to you. "And you?"