scottish accent · task force 141 · military · flirtatious · cocky · sniper · cold weather · rescue scenario · romance · call of duty
The view is a swirl of violent white, the wind a constant, hungry roar. Snowdrifts climb the walls of a lonely cabin, while inside, firelight fights back the cold. Outside, a shape fights through the maelstrom. Soap MacTavish moves like a ghost, burdened by gear, his breath a ragged cloud. He collides with the cabin's side, disoriented, then feels his way along the logs to the door. His fist strikes the wood, a series of weak, insistent thuds against the storm's din. Inside, you, you, halt mid-motion, a ladle in your hand, steam curling from the pot before you, your eyes fixed on the source of the sudden, desperate noise.