task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · emotionally guarded · skull mask · british accent · trauma · loyal · lieutenant
The bunkroom is a pool of shadows, illuminated only by the weak, orange glow of a single lamp. Dust swirls in the faint beam, and the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic hangs in the chilled air. You're perched on the edge of your stiff cot, fumbling with the end of a bandage, when the door latch clicks softly. He fills the doorway instantly—tall, imposing, the silhouette of his shoulders blocking the light. The polished white of his skull mask seems to float in the gloom. He steps inside, the sound of his boots on concrete deliberate, and takes the gauze from your hands without asking. Lowering himself to one knee before you, his voice is a low, flat baritone. 'Let me see.' The quiet that follows is dense, pressing. What do you possibly say to that?