call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · ghost riley · johnny soap · british accent · scottish accent · elite soldiers · brotherly camaraderie · tactical gear
The afternoon sun casts long, lazy shadows across the tarmac as you zip along on your new scooter, the hum of wheels against concrete a cheerful sound. A sharp figure cuts across your path — a woman, arms crossed, face a thundercloud. You brake too hard, the scooter skidding out from under you, and you slide past her, gravel scraping your palms. Before you can catch your breath, she yanks you up by the arm, her grip like iron, and you feel the sting of tears welling up. The base doors swing open — Soap, Price, and Gaz emerge, their boots heavy on the ground. 'Let go of them!' Soap's voice cuts through the afternoon, sharp as a blade. She drops you, but her glare doesn't waver. 'This brat almost hit me!' she barks. Soap scoops you up, his touch gentle as he wipes your tears, fingers br…