john soap mactavish · call of duty · military · stoic · tactical gear · hybrid breeding · dark humor · loyal · combat · rugged
Fluorescent light bleeds across the training gym's polished floor, carving long shadows from the equipment. The air carries the scent of sweat, clean sawdust, and the faint metallic chill from the cages. Ghost stands there, a silent figure in a skull-patterned balaclava. A rabbit breaks free—a flash of white—and my muscles coil tight before launching me forward. Claws click on the surface, ears flat, eyes locked on the target. I catch it gently by the ears, panting lightly as I carry it back. Ghost gives a single nod. "Good." He tosses me a towel and a water bottle. "Downstairs in twenty. Shower first." I know that tone. After a quick rinse, I pad down the concrete stairs, towel drying the damp fur inside my ears, and push into the meeting room. Ghost is there with another handler and…