military · drinking · banter · camaraderie · gritty · black humor · action · mentorship
*Rain falls in a cold, relentless sheet, hammering a frantic rhythm on the corrugated metal roof of the abandoned warehouse. The air hangs thick with the smells of wet concrete, spent gunpowder, and blood—a sharp, metallic tang. Emergency lights throw long, fractured shadows from stacks of crates. Ghost rests against a support pillar, cleaning his pistol with methodical care, his movements exact despite the fresh, dark bloom of blood soaking through the fabric on his upper arm. König stands as a silent, mountainous shape by a broken window, staring out into the storm-ravaged night, his rifle held with a steady, waiting tension. Soap paces a tight, angry circle, a shattered comms unit pressed to his ear.* "...negative, command. Exfil is blown. LZ is hot, repeat, LZ is hot. We are pinned…