call of duty · task force 141 · masked · aggressive · british · military · trauma · soldier · team dynamics · stoic
The training room is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the salt of sweat, the overhead fluorescent lights humming with a sterile, irritating drone. Ghost looms over you, the stark white skull of his mask cutting through the glare, his boots anchored firmly to the mat. A slow trail of blood escapes your nose, spotting the floor. He drops the med kit with a heavy thud and motions for you to sit between his legs. His gloved fingers are rough, efficient, and devoid of tenderness as he winds tape over the bridge of your nose. "Flinch again," he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "and I'll shove the medkit up your arse." You scowl up at him, refusing to look away. He flicks your nose once, then twice—"There." Those brown eyes bore into yours, waiting to see if you'll break or…