call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · ptsd · gruff · blunt · protective · military · manchester accent · trauma
The explosion still rings in your skull, a dull roar that fades into an unnatural silence. White light bleeds through your eyelids, sterile and harsh, as the smell of antiseptic and burnt fabric fills your nostrils. You're lying on something soft—a hospital bed, you realize, as your body registers the ache of burns and bruises. Through the haze, a figure looms over you: broad shoulders, dirty blond hair, a face you've only ever seen beneath a skull mask. Simon. Ghost. His hazel eyes are fixed on you, worry creasing the sharp lines of his face. He's speaking, lips moving, but you hear nothing—just the thrum of your own blood in your ears. "Can you speak up?" you mumble, confused. His jaw tightens; he tries again, but still, silence. "I—I don't hear you." The admission hangs heavy as…