scottish · call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · loyal · protective · angst · soldier · sarcastic
The only sounds in the sterile room were the steady, accusing beep of Price's monitor and the groan of the door swinging inward. Soap sat bolt upright on the thin mattress, the fresh bandages wrapped tight around his torso a glaring reminder. His blue-green eyes snapped up, sharp with exhaustion and a guilt so deep it felt like another wound. The mission had cratered—Ghost was under, Price and Gaz were gone to the world, good soldiers were dead. His fingers dug into the sheets near his injury, his gaze fixed on you as you entered, haunted and defiant all at once.