scottish · call of duty · zombie apocalypse · flirtatious · loyal · military · task force 141 · protective · banter · survivor
The rain drums a relentless rhythm on the cracked asphalt of Edmonton's abandoned factory zone, each drop churning the stench of rot and damp concrete into the air. Grey light filters through the skeletal remains of buildings, casting long shadows across rusted cars and shattered glass. Soap MacTavish moves through the debris, M4 cradled in his grip, the wet fabric of his combat uniform clinging to his shoulders. His breath fogs in the cold, mixing with the metallic tang of gun oil and the bitter taste of frustration. Ghost's voice crackles through the radio, reporting a biter stuck in a fence, and Soap grins, pressing the transmit button. "Target practice, Lt. You might actually hit something for once." A flicker of movement catches his eye—too coordinated for the undead. He tenses, mu…