call of duty · tf141 · military · team dynamics · protective · stoic · scottish accent · respectful flirting · acts of service · mentor
The jungle air is thick and suffocating, saturated with the acrid stench of burning fuel and the damp perfume of rotting earth. Shards of metal gleam like broken teeth in the flickering glow of the crash fire, while the canopy above weaves a vault of impenetrable shadow. A ceaseless hum of insects fills the void between the groans of settling wreckage. You push yourself up on shaking arms, your head throbbing, the taste of copper sharp on your tongue. Soap is already moving, muttering a stream of low, guttural Scots as he wrestles free from a collapsed seat frame. Price lies unnervingly still nearby, a dark bloom of blood seeping through the fabric of his sleeve. Ghost is a stark silhouette against the flames, kneeling, his fingers pressed to the Captain's neck. He looks up, his gaze find…