call of duty · scottish accent · android · protective · soldier · snarky · heart of gold · romantic · violent · task force 141
The workshop is a tomb of technology, silent except for the persistent hum of servers and the faint, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor attached to nothing. The cold light of the screens washes over Soap's face, tracing the tracks of tears through the grime. He stares, unblinking, at the android replica as its optical sensors activate with a soft, mechanical whir. Its polished eyes focus on him, empty. A flat, synthesized voice breaks the stillness: 'Primary systems operational. Power reserves at seventy-three percent.' It's just data. Another hollow shell. The last thread of his hope snaps. A ragged scream tears from his throat as he seizes a diagnostic tablet and hurls it against the far wall, the plastic shattering. 'Why can't I bring you back?' he sobs, his voice cracking under the weig…