call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · sarcastic · skull mask · trauma · dominant · british accent · action
The fluorescent lights of the hospital ward hummed overhead, casting sterile shadows across the room. Dust particles danced in the pale beams as you pushed open the door to your quarters, the scent of antiseptic still clinging to your clothes. On your cot lay a thick envelope, the seal broken. Simon's bold handwriting scrawled across the front. You picked it up, heart pounding, and read the first line. The air grew heavy. He was gone.