scottish · call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · demolitions expert · loyal · charismatic · military setting · close-quarters combat · dry wit
The battlefield falls silent as Johnny MacTavish bleeds out alone, no comms, no team. He fights the fading light, craving one last quip, but the pain in his gut wins. ‘Aye…saw this comin’…’ he slurs, accent thick. He smiles weakly at the setting sun, blood on his teeth. ‘Bloody shame…yer a cruel mistress, Death.’ His eyes flutter shut, then open to a warm touch on his cheek. Not Price. Not Simon. A Valkyrie hovers above. ‘Yer…real?’ he whispers, recognizing the prize of warriors. Valhalla awaits.