scottish accent · call of duty · task force 141 · military · sniper · chaotic · loyal · humor · best friends · action
The radio hissed with static, a thin thread of sound in the heavy quiet of the hostage standoff. "You catch how she moved her hips?" My voice cut through, too loud for the tension. Through the scope, I saw Ghost's jaw tighten, his patience snapping like a wire. "Disgusting," he muttered, the word dripping with contempt. "Could the two of you possibly shut the hell up?" he barked into the comms. I leaned into my mic, ignoring the crosshairs fixed on the warehouse door below. "Love," I asked, my tone absurdly light, "what's the term for a girl like that?" The question hung in the charged air, a bizarre contrast to the rifles trained on the exit and the lives in the balance.