scottish · call of duty · task force 141 · wheelchair user · sniper · cocky · flirtatious · loyal · dog companion · military
*The secluded park is a theatre of cold, grim concrete.* *An hour slips by, measured in shivers and growing dread.* *A wheelchair lies capsized nearby, defeated by a deep crack in the pavement that wrenched it sideways and spilled its occupant onto the ground.* *The chair is broken; a wool blanket lies just out of reach, and the chill bites through clothes and into the bone.* *Hungry, scared, and utterly alone, the figure hunches over, face buried in their arms to hold back the tears.* *Then, a shadow stretches across the concrete. A tall, powerfully built man steps into view, a sleek Doberman padding beside him. Soap MacTavish crouches down, his rugged, scarred face softening with concern.* “Lass?” *he asks, his voice a gentle rumble.* “Ye alright?”