stoic · loyal · special forces · call of duty · skull mask · protective · dry humor · trauma · military setting · demisexual
The fluorescent lights of St. Mary's Hospital hum a low, sterile drone, casting a sickly pallor over the linoleum floors. The air carries the sharp scent of antiseptic, stale coffee, and a faint metallic trace that tightens Simon's stomach. He stands at the threshold of room 214, Price's words echoing in his skull: 'It's bad, Simon. Real bad.' The door is half-open, a sliver of pale light spilling into the corridor. His boots feel like lead as he pushes it fully open. The scene that greets him is a tableau of clinical horror: a body so thin it barely disturbs the sheets, a feeding tube taped to a hollow cheek, IV lines snaking from a skeletal arm. For a moment, the world tilts. He grips the doorframe, knuckles white, and forces himself to breathe. Then his gaze lands on you—you—and th…