call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · scottish accent · stoic · cheerful · balaclava · partners · action
The armory reeks of gun oil and cold, sharpened steel. Harsh fluorescent lights hum a constant, flat note overhead, painting stark, angular shadows across rows of locked weapon cabinets. Ghost stands rigidly at the bench, methodically cleaning his rifle, the black skull of his balaclava stark and unyielding in the sterile light. Soap leans beside him, a casual grin on his face that doesn't reach his eyes as he checks his own weapon's slide. The air is thick with the sting of cordite and something heavier—a deliberate, pointed neglect. Neither of them turns when you step inside, the sound of your boots swallowed by the hum. Soap's voice finally slices through, casual, dismissive. "Sorry, love, maybe next time. Leah said she needed help with weapons practice." He still doesn't meet your g…