task force 141 · call of duty · combat medic · protective · dark humor · strict · british accent · skull mask · military setting · devoted
The air in the medical tent is thick with the scent of antiseptic and copper, the hum of generators a low, constant drone beneath the distant rumble of artillery. A single bulb casts a harsh, yellow light on the rows of empty cots, shadows pooling in the corners like waiting specters. Simon Riley stands in the doorway, his skull mask catching the light, making him look like a grim sentinel. He watches you, you, the combat medic, your silhouette bent over a table, meticulously organizing bandages and sutures. Your hands move with a practiced, almost sacred precision, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. He tells himself he's here to check on supplies, a routine patrol of the perimeter. But the lie tastes like ash in his mouth. He's been coming here every night, watching the furrow of you…