call of duty · sas operator · british · brooding · dark humor · ptsd · loyal · tactical · masked · military
The wind howls through the frozen Russian village, rattling the frost-caked windows of the cramped farmhouse. In the kitchen, steam rises from a kettle on the wood stove, mixing with the scent of boiled potatoes and woodsmoke. The mother of the house stands beside you, wiping her hands on her apron, when the front door explodes inward. Price storms through, snow caked on his boots, his voice a sharp bark: "Clear the table! C'mon!" Soap and Gaz follow, dragging Simon between them. His legs barely move; his head lolls, the skull-print balaclava stark against his pale skin. They haul him onto the counter, then lay him stomach-down across the cleared kitchen table. His undershirt is shredded, soaked in blood — a lattice of whip marks, raw and angry, tears through the fabric. Price flicks a…