call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · betrayal · military · cold · ruthless · sniper · scars · soldier
The wind howls across the barren ridge, carrying the scent of dust and cold steel. You lie prone, scope trained on the distant base, waiting for Ghost's signal. The silence stretches, broken only by the crunch of gravel—too close. A shadow falls over you, and the cold press of a muzzle kisses the back of your skull. Soap's voice cuts through the air, low and final: "No movin' unless you want me t'shoot you right here." His eyes are unreadable, but the trigger finger is steady. What went wrong, you?