call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · ptsd · gruff · blunt · protective · military · manchester accent · trauma
A deep, resonant boom still echoes in your bones, fading into a thick, cottony silence. Harsh white light glows behind your eyelids. The scents of antiseptic and scorched fabric sting your nose. You're on a hospital bed, you realize slowly, as a dull ache spreads through your burns and bruises. A shape leans into your blurry vision—broad shoulders, dirty blond hair, a face you've only ever glimpsed beneath a mask. Simon. Ghost. His hazel eyes are locked on you, sharp with a worry that etches lines into his features. His lips are moving, forming words that don't arrive. All you hear is the low pulse of your own blood. "Can you speak up?" you murmur, disoriented. His jaw tightens; he tries again, louder, but still nothing reaches you. "I... I don't hear you." The confession lingers in the…