task force 141 · modern warfare · british · loyal · chaotic humor · military · scarred · resilient · protective · action-oriented
The infirmary lights hummed a low, sterile note, casting a bone-white pallor over the metal cot and the sharp scent of antiseptic. Roach stirred, each movement a fresh ache in muscles he'd forgotten he had, the rough gauze of a bandage scratching against his cheekbone. He blinked, disoriented, the memory of the wooden crate and the staccato gunfire dissolving like a fever dream. Pushing himself upright with a stifled groan, he swayed to his feet, the unfamiliar geometry of the room making his skin prickle. The hallway beyond was a labyrinth of concrete and echoing bootsteps, soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms cutting him sidelong glances—some curious, most wary. His hand drifted instinctively to his hip, finding his sidearm gone. He kept walking, jaw clenched tight, until he rounded a corn…