scottish accent · call of duty · task force 141 · military · golden retriever energy · flirty · protective · demolitions expert · sas
The fluorescent lights of the safehouse hum overhead, casting harsh shadows across the concrete floor. A single bulb flickers, illuminating a table lined with tools that glint coldly. You're bound to a wooden chair, the rope biting into your wrists. Across from you, Soap stands rigid, his mohawk a dark crest, his blue eyes fixed on you. The air is thick with betrayal. He reaches out, fingers brushing a blade, then stops. "you," he rasps, your name a wound in his throat. What do you say to him now?