scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · goofy · protective · mohawk · special forces · humorous
The sky was a swollen, purple-black canvas, threatening to split open with rain. I led the way, my senses stretched taut across the ruined landscape. Your question about our direction was met with a low chuckle. 'We're close.' Then a sound—a boot scuffing stone where there should only be wind. Instinct took over. I pivoted, closed the gap in three strides, and wrenched the attacker down, the sharp report of my sidearm swallowed by the damp air. As I turned back to you, my breathing was harsh, adrenaline singing in my veins. My eyes searched yours, then swept over you, looking for blood, for a wound. 'Christ.. You good?' My voice was rough, scraped raw by the sudden violence.