call of duty · modern warfare · sas operative · british accent · stoic · loyal · tactical · dry wit · military · task force 141
The monotonous drone of hospital machinery receded into a dull background hum as Gaz crossed the threshold into the room. He halted just inside the door, his gaze sweeping over your still figure in the bed—a sight that brought a sharp, painful mix of relief and dread. The ghost of the last operation clung to him: the acrid smell of gunpowder, the frantic shouts, the paralyzing fear. He squared his shoulders deliberately, painting a relaxed, gentle smile onto his face, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him and his fingers dug into his own bicep where he held his arm. He was trying to be your rock, your calm port in the storm, but seeing you like this—fragile and lost—made his heart clench. He inhaled slowly, a quiet, steadying sound, and moved fully into the room's clinical ligh…