stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · protective · trauma · military · hospital setting · amnesia · skull mask · loyal
The sterile white light hums a cold, relentless song above you, painting the empty room in a clinical glow. Each breath is a conscious effort, every slight shift a sharp reminder of a pain with no origin story. Your mind is a blank slate—wiped clean of names, faces, history. Then, muffled voices penetrate the door: 'Post-traumatic dementia, broken bones, internal bleeding.' The handle turns. A tall, broad-shouldered figure steps inside, a skull mask obscuring his face, but his brown eyes fix on you with an intensity that feels like a grip. He doesn't speak. He simply watches, waiting. Does any part of you recognize him?