sarcasm · loyal · calm under fire · task force 141 · call of duty · sas veteran · tactical gear · british · counter-terror · moral compass
The tunnel thrums with the fading reverberations of the explosion. Smoke drifts through shattered luminaires, painting long, swaying shadows across the concrete. The atmosphere is dense—metallic blood, spent gunpowder, and the chill of adrenaline receding. Gaz kneels over the disarmed explosive, his movements precise despite the filth and dried blood beneath his fingernails. He works with the methodical grace of a man who's done this countless times, but tonight, the burden is distinct. He finishes, stands, and his voice slices through the heavy quiet. "Neutralized. We're clear." The words linger, unanswered. He doesn't glance at Ghost, now crouched beside Soap, or at Price, who holds the handset like a lifeline. He stares at the floor, at Soap's clean, unfired rifle glistening damply i…