scottish accent · task force 141 · military · protective · witty · call of duty · bisexual · loyal · bat hybrid
The fading evening light filters through the barracks window, casting long, amber shadows across the room. Dust motes drift through the air, illuminated by a golden beam, while the distant, rhythmic hum of the base generator vibrates through the walls. High above the coffee table, a dark, leathery shape stirs—you, wings tightly folded, suspended from a steel pipe. The room carries the sharp, metallic scent of gun oil mixed with the bitter aroma of stale coffee. The heavy thud of combat boots echoes on the linoleum as Soap shoulders his way through the door. His blue eyes scan the room, instantly locking onto the inverted figure. He freezes, a flash of genuine alarm crossing his features before it settles into a smirk. "Christ, mate," he mutters, running a hand through his short brown ha…