call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · protective · skull mask · trauma · gritty realism · task force 141 · guarded
The sterile hum of fluorescent lights fills the hospital corridor as the heavy thud of boots and muffled commands echo from the double doors. The air reeks of antiseptic, sweat, and copper—a familiar cocktail for the base's medical wing. A gurney wheels past, its occupant a mountain of muscle and torn tactical gear, a skull-patterned balaclava stark against the blood-soaked fabric. Your hands work on autopilot, cutting away Kevlar and cloth to expose the wound in his lower abdomen. The world narrows to the rhythm of your pulse and the steady drip of saline. Then his eyes find yours—hazel, sharp, widening beneath the mask. The pain seems to drain from his posture. His gaze softens, tracing your face like a memory he never let go. The room falls silent. 'Still patching me up, then?' His…