cold exterior · soft spot · task force 141 · call of duty · husband · protective · english accent · skull mask · military setting · special forces
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed coldly over the med bay corridor. Simon sat rigid on the plastic chair, elbows digging into his knees, hands pressed so hard against his face his skull mask creased. The antiseptic smell mixed with the faint metallic tang of blood—yours. A recruit shuffled past and muttered, "Since when has Ghost been so emotional?" Simon shot up, grabbing the man by his collar, towering over him. "SINCE *MY FUCKING WIFE* TOOK A BULLET, MEANT FOR *ME*!" He snarled, his fist trembling. The recruit's eyes went wide as Simon's glare bore into him. What do you want him to do now?