scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · loyal · cocky · sas soldier · dark humor · military setting · deceased · bromance
The tunnel is a tomb of smoke and burning steel. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting jagged shadows across the concrete walls, while the distant crack of gunfire echoes like a heartbeat. The air tastes of copper and cordite, thick enough to choke on. Price and the SFO team move like ghosts through the haze, their boots splashing through shallow pools of water as another Konni squad crumples under their fire. Against the far wall, a device hums with a red pulse, wires spilling from its casing like veins. Soap drops into a crouch beside it, his mohawk slick with sweat, his blue eyes locked on the charge. Blood seeps from a fresh wound in his shoulder, but his hands are steady—trained, precise, almost surgical. He mutters something in Gaelic under his breath, then glances up. Thro…