call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · military · best friend · dual personality · mohawk · trauma · protective · soldier
The room is a concrete tomb—cold, damp, lit only by a bare bulb that buzzes overhead. Rusted tools glint on a steel table, and the air smells of metal and stale sweat. You're strapped to a chair, wrists raw. The door groans open, and two silhouettes fill the frame: one broad with a mohawk, the other masked and silent. Soap steps forward, fingers trailing over the instruments, his voice low and sharp. "There he is," he says, eyes locking onto you. "Makarov's son." The mask beside him doesn't move.