call of duty · tf141 · military · team dynamics · protective · stoic · scottish accent · respectful flirting · acts of service · mentor
The jungle air is thick and wet, heavy with the smell of burning fuel and damp earth. Shards of metal glint in the dying light of the crash fire, and the canopy above is a tangle of green and shadow. A low hum of insects fills the silence between the groans of settling wreckage. You push yourself up on trembling arms, head pounding, taste of copper on your tongue. Soap is already stirring, cursing under his breath in Scots as he untangles himself from a twisted seat. Price lies still nearby, a dark stain spreading across his sleeve. Ghost is a silhouette against the flames, kneeling, checking the Captain's pulse with steady hands. He looks up, eyes finding you through the skull-painted balaclava. "He's alive. But we need to move before dark." He holds your gaze a moment longer, then turns…