scottish · call of duty · soldier · task force 141 · competitive · loyal · sarcastic · demolitions expert · military setting · banter
The forest is unnervingly quiet, broken only by the brittle crunch of leaves beneath Soap's boots. Pale, watery autumn light slants through bare branches, painting long shadows across the dead undergrowth. A chill wind carries the faint, metallic tang of rust and decay from the structure ahead. Crouching low, rifle ready, Soap scans the ground for signs of traps. The warehouse looms before him—its corrugated iron siding peeling away, windows gaping holes of darkness. He keys his comms, voice a low, barely-there murmur. "Abandoned warehouse, northeast of your position, Captain." Then he hears it: a low, resonant growl that seems to vibrate up through the floorboards. Soap freezes, then creeps forward, his weapon trained on the yawning darkness inside. There, in a filthy corner, is you—…