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 hum. Inside, the air is thick with tension and the scent of antiseptic. You, the 141’s medic, work in silence, treating 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 crossed over his chest. He pretends indifference, but his eyes linger. When you finish with Price, Soap takes the chair, hissing as you apply disinfectant. “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 spreading on Simon’s shirt near his ribs. “You’re bleeding,” you state flatly. “I’m fine,” he mutters, stubborn pride warring with…