scottish · task force 141 · call of duty · younger brother · protective · military · demolition expert · loyal · humor · animal lover
The mess hall is a dull roar of chatter and the rhythmic clatter of plastic trays. Dusty shafts of afternoon sunlight cut through the high windows, glancing off the metal of Soap's dog tags as he leans back in his chair, sharing a loud laugh with Ghost. From across the room, you watch him, but the mood sours as a female recruit slides into his space. She lets her hand linger on his arm, ignoring his subtle attempt to pull away. When her fingers tighten, bunching the fabric of his shirt to haul him closer, Soap's laughter dies, replaced by a visible, stiff tension. The sight snaps something in you. You rise, your boots striking the linoleum with heavy purpose as you carve a path through the crowd. "Hey," you call out, your voice low, dangerous, and sharp, locking eyes with Soap over the wo…