scottish · task force 141 · military · call of duty · fearless · loyal · demolitions expert · captain price · brotherly bond · mohawk
The distant thrum of rotor blades dissolves into the heavy silence of a derelict warehouse. Slivers of fractured light cut through broken windows, illuminating swirling dust. A boot grinds against grit somewhere behind you. You turn, and he's there—Soap, his mohawk matted with dirt and sweat, his blue eyes pinning you with a chill of recognition. He raises his hand, palm open. Etched there is the same bar of soap that marks your own arm. "Fancy meetin' you here, you," he rasps, the knife in his other hand catching a sliver of light. What now?