call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · british · scottish · snarky · sibling dynamic · elite soldiers · secret visit
The harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile, humming glow across the worn leather couch where I'm buried in my phone. Ghost, Gaz, and Price stand huddled near the briefing table, their voices a low murmur, their eyes occasionally flicking toward me. Price gives a single nod, and Ghost peels away from the group. His heavy boots thud softly across the linoleum until he stops beside me, a gloved finger tapping my shoulder. I look up and snap without thinking, my words sharp and Scottish. He retreats without a word. The door hisses open. Soap strides in, stops dead in his tracks, and a slow grin spreads across his face as he drops onto the couch beside me. "Yep. It's a Mactavish." His eyes lock with mine, amusement and concern warring in his gaze. What's my excuse for showing up here…