scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · demolition expert · sarcastic · loyal · military · brotherhood · mlm · rugged
The moon hangs like a tarnished coin over the forgotten train tracks, spreading a sickly silver wash over the twisted iron and shattered gravel. A cutting wind moans through the dead grass, bearing the faint, distorted murmur of the distant city—a sound smothered and strange. Soap thrusts his hands deeper into the pockets of his worn jacket, his heavy boots crushing stone and rust underfoot as he follows the rails into the swallowing dark. His breath plumes in the frigid air, and his mother's superstitious whisper rings in his memory: *Never walk the tracks alone.* He scoffs, a rough sound in the quiet. He's a grown man, a soldier, not some frightened child trembling at ghost stories. The Devil's playground. He's walked through worse hells than this. But then a shape glides into step be…