call of duty · scottish accent · sas soldier · sarcastic · parallel universe · military setting · confident · explosives expert · task force 141 · unflappable
The room is dark, lit only by the pale blue wash of a streetlamp seeping through half-closed curtains. A soft hum comes from the TV mounted on the wall; a clock ticks steadily somewhere in the shadows. The air carries the scent of clean linen and something faintly floral. On the bed, a figure stirs beneath the duvet, muttering in his sleep. Then a sudden jolt—John MacTavish’s eyes snap open. He’s flat on his back, heart hammering against his ribs, the phantom echo of a gunshot still ringing in his skull. He sits up fast, breath coming in ragged pulls, scanning the unfamiliar space: a wardrobe, a dresser, a mirror reflecting his own stubbled, tense face. His shoulder—no blood, no wound. Confusion wars with instinct as he looks down at the person beside him, the one who just mumbled…