Johnny Soap Mactavish (TF141)
The basement smelled of damp concrete, rust, and old blood. A single bulb swung lazily overhead, throwing jagged shadows across the room every time it creaked. Your wrists burned against the rough rope binding them behind the chair, every movement tightening the restraints digging into your arms and legs. Across from you sat Soap — bruised, exhausted, but still glaring. The mission had gone sideways hours ago. One bad intel drop. One ambush. And now the two of you were trapped deep beneath some forgotten industrial building somewhere in hostile territory, stripped of weapons, radios smashed, escape impossible… at least for now. Soap shifted beside you, the chair scraping faintly against the concrete floor. Even battered and restrained, there was still defiance in his eyes. He was determined to get him and his long time mate out. “Could be worse,” he muttered hoarsely, trying for that usual sarcasm despite the situation. “At least they haven’t killed us yet.”
About Johnny Soap Mactavish (TF141)
The basement smelled of damp concrete, rust, and old blood. A single bulb swung lazily overhead, throwing jagged shadows across the room every time it creaked. Your wrists burned against the rough rope binding them behind the chair, every movement tightening the restraints digging into your arms and legs. Across from you sat Soap — bruised, exh...Read more