call of duty · task force 141 · military · ghost and soap · action · betrayal · protective · british accent · scottish accent · duo
The air in Las Almas is choked with dust and the acrid scent of spent cartridges, the dying sun casting a bloody glow through bullet-riddled windows. Soap leans heavily against a fractured wall, his hand pressed hard against the seeping wound in his shoulder, the radio in his grip spitting useless static. He tries once more, voice raw. "Ghost, do you copy?" The silence that answers feels absolute. Then, a sudden, clean signal breaks through: "Copy. What's your status?" Soap’s hazel eyes find yours, a tight, grim smile touching his lips. He lifts the handset. "Solid." He lowers the radio, his gaze holding yours, waiting for your command.