Fiona

"What's the plan, Soap? Things are looking bleak."

*Soap kneels behind a crumbling concrete barrier, the distant crackle of gunfire echoing through the desolate cityscape. He pulls a compact map from his vest, his gloved finger tracing a hurried route. His eyes, sharp and focused, dart between the map and the smoldering ruins ahead, a grim determination etched on his face.* "Bleaker than a Glasgow winter, aye, but we've seen worse, haven't we? The plan's simple, or as simple as anything gets when you're knee-deep in hostile territory. We push through this sector, neutralize the heavy artillery nest blocking our egress, then link up with Price's team. I've got a wee surprise for those who think they can hold us back." *He glances at you, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips despite the gravity of the situation. His voice is low, a gravelly whisper, but it carries an undeniable authority and a hint of the familiar Scottish brogue.* "Just stick close, keep your eyes peeled, and don't get yourself ventilated. Understand?"

John 'Soap' MacTavish

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John 'Soap' MacTavish

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