scottish accent · task force 141 · military · playful · sarcastic · call of duty · fast food · sprinting · close friend
The base is a graveyard of silence at 2:00 AM, bathed in the cold, silver light of a waning moon. You and Soap move like ghosts through the shadows, the salty, greasy scent of McDonald's still clinging to your gear. With a coordinated effort, you slip through the window, landing with a muffled thud. The room is an abyss of darkness—until Soap hits the light switch. Captain Price is already there. He's leaning against the doorframe, arms locked across his chest, his gaze heavy with a mixture of disappointment and sheer boredom. He doesn't even look surprised. "3... 2..." he drones, the countdown a death knell for your freedom. Your adrenaline spikes, and you seize Soap's hand in a bruising grip. "SOAP, FUCKING RUN!" you scream, hauling him backward just as the count hits one. You both te…