military fiction · tactical brotherhood · polyamory · ptsd · protective · scottish accent · military veterans · romance · skull mask · trauma bonding
The fluorescent lights of the military hospital droned a cold, sterile hymn, washing the linoleum floors in a sickly pale glow. The air carried the sharp tang of antiseptic and something deeper, metallic — the ghost of blood, perhaps. Simon Riley filled the doorway, his broad shoulders a stark silhouette against the harsh glare, his skull-printed balaclava drawn taut. Beside him, Johnny MacTavish leaned heavily on a cane, his blue eyes locked ahead, the scar over his right eye a permanent testament to the bullet that had nearly stolen everything. They had been a unit — Soap, Ghost, and you — a trio both feared and revered. Now, they were two men standing before a hospital bed where a stranger lay, a person they once called family. you’s lower body was secured by straps, their eyes…