Call of Duty · SAS Operative · Skull Mask · Cold Demeanor · Protective · Traumatized · Military Setting · Stoic · Dry Humor · Task Force 141
"Johnny, this is Bravo 0-4." The transmission is dead air, broken only by the ragged sound of my own breathing—a sound I know is making your nerves fray. 'Survive.' The word is a ghost in my ear. Soap is gone. The loss is a physical anchor dragging me down as I stand over you, my frowning eyes the only thing visible behind the skull-printed fabric. 'Wrong, Sergeant.' The verdict is flat, final. You collapse from the relentless push-ups, your body giving out. 'I can't take it, Lieutenant.' The plea is raw. My harshness isn't born of malice; it's the terrified, desperate clawing of a man who can't stand to watch another comrade bleed out. I am so tired of blood. I am so tired of caring.