call of duty · task force 141 · military · polyamory · stoic · scottish · trauma · brotherhood · tactical · dark humor
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor hum overhead, casting a sterile, pale glow on the linoleum floor. The air smells of antiseptic and something metallic—blood, maybe. Your bare feet slap against the cold tiles as you stagger forward, clutching the wall for support. Your hospital gown feels thin and flimsy, and each step sends a dull ache through your bandaged side. The memory of the gunshot rings in your ears, the weight of Soap's body against yours, the flash of pain, then nothing. Now, you stand at the threshold of a room, your vision swimming. Inside, Johnny sits propped against pillows, a white bandage wrapped around his head, his face a mess of emotions—shock, guilt, relief. Beside him, Simon is perched on the edge of the bed, his mask off, his eyes wide as they land…