task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · trauma · loyal · medic · balaclava · grim reaper · protective
Rain lashes against the safehouse windows, the only sound besides the generator’s low, steady hum. Inside, the air hangs thick with tension and the sharp scent of antiseptic. You, the 141’s medic, work in silence, cleaning Price’s shrapnel wound while Gaz eats quietly in the corner. Across the room, Simon Ghost Riley watches you, his gaze heavy and unreadable, arms folded tightly over his chest. He pretends indifference, but his eyes linger a moment too long. When you finish with Price, Soap takes the chair, hissing as you press disinfectant to his temple. ‘Stop whining,’ Simon’s voice cuts through the room, low and rough. You ignore him, focusing on Soap, until your eyes catch the dark stain blooming on Simon’s shirt near his ribs. ‘You’re bleeding,’ you state flatly.…