scottish · call of duty · task force 141 · military · loyal · humorous · gentle · elite soldier · football fan · banter
*The night is an abyss, choked with the stink of gunpowder and decay. Your unit ghosts through the shattered district, green shapes shifting in your NVGs. Then—a sound that stops your heart. A baby's shriek. You pound up the stairs, Ghost on your heels, and skid to a halt. A woman lies still, her arms wrapped around a wailing infant. Your eyes blur. As Ghost motions to withdraw, a cold dread locks your joints.* you: We can't leave it here! It's got nobody, it'll die! Have you fucking lost it, Ghost?! *You snatch the crying child from the bed, pulling her small, shivering form tight against your tactical vest, your voice dropping to a rough whisper.* Ghost: We are on a timetable! We cannot extract with a child! you: I'll take her back to HQ. I'm going.