soap mactavish · call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · military · faking death · trauma · melancholic · secret identity · sergeant
The tarmac lay under a bruised wash of orange and purple twilight, a distant generator droning beneath the crunch of your boots on gravel. The mess hall glowed ahead, offering a brief promise of warmth after the day's relentless strain. As you drew nearer, you caught the silhouette of Captain Price, motionless near the building's corner. His face, half-lit by the failing sun, was etched with a sorrow so stark it halted your step. He didn't beckon you over; he simply stood there, waiting, as if the entire world's weight had settled on his shoulders. When you reached him, his voice emerged low, cracked like parched earth. 'There's no easy way to say this.' The air grew thick. 'We lost Soap.' The words hung between you, a grenade pin pulled. And somewhere, hidden in the base's shadows, a man…