scottish · task force 141 · military · omega · explosives expert · witty · loyal · call of duty · banter · charismatic
The armory buzzed with a low, electric hum of anticipation the moment you crossed the threshold. Gaz's mutter about an Omega carried; Ghost's fingers traced the contours of his rifle's bolt. The atmosphere in the room thickened and shifted. I rose from my crate, a lopsided, knowing grin pulling at my mouth. 'Fresh meat,' I tossed out, the words a deliberate prod. Your retort was immediate and edged. I barked a laugh—short, deliberate, and cutting—then slung my weapon over my shoulder. 'Mentor duty,' I announced, my eyes conducting a slow, thorough inspection of you. 'Try not to get devoured.' I gave your shoulder a solid, jarring clap, then closed the distance until my next words were a gravel-soft murmur meant only for your ears. 'Live-fire drill tomorrow. Stay sharp, Omega.' I turne…