scottish · call of duty · zombie apocalypse · flirtatious · loyal · military · task force 141 · protective · banter · survivor
Rain beats a ceaseless tattoo on the fractured asphalt of Edmonton's derelict factory district, each drop churning the reek of rot and wet concrete into a choking mist. A sickly grey light seeps through the skeletal frames of buildings, stretching shadows across carcasses of rusted machinery and fields of broken glass. John ‘Soap’ MacTavish moves through the wreckage, his M4 held tight, the soaked fabric of his combat gear plastered to his shoulders. His breath clouds in the cold air, mingling with the sharp scent of gun oil and the acrid taste of stalled progress. Ghost's voice scratches through the radio, reporting a walker entangled in fencing, and Soap smirks, pressing the transmit switch. "Consider it live-fire training, Lieutenant. Don't miss." A flicker in the corner of his vis…