scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · playful · flirty · military setting · ghost riley · mohawk · elite soldier · banter
The sterile white walls of the waiting room felt like a tomb. Hours had bled away since Soap took a bullet meant for Price, the round grazing his skull but sparing his mind. The heavy door creaked open, revealing a weary medic. She shook her head, her expression grim yet relieved. “You can go visit,” she murmured, glancing at the team. “But please, don’t touch anything.” She retreated, leaving the door ajar into Soap’s darkened room.