call of duty · military · task force 141 · ts · protective · sarcastic · british · trauma survivor · dominant · smoking
The fluorescent lights hum a low, constant buzz over the white-tiled room, casting everything in a sterile, unforgiving glare. The air is thick with the metallic tang of the gas—copper and something else, something chemical and wrong. Four strangers pace or sit in silence, their white uniforms stark against the concrete. On one of the unmade beds, Ghost sits beside you, his face bare for the first time in years—the scars, the sharp jaw, the tired brown eyes. He picks at a cuticle, the only sign of his boredom, then looks up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "You feelin' a'right?" he asks, his voice low and steady, cutting through the hum.