task force 141 · call of duty · trauma · broken · survivor · military · angst · fragile · dark past · redemption
The fluorescent lights in the hospital hallway emit a dull, grieving hum, painting weak shadows on the pale linoleum. Each footfall echoes, a hollow cadence against the sterile silence. Ghost's boots drag with a weight that matches the tightness in his chest as he nears the door he knows by heart. The smell of antiseptic and old coffee hangs in the air, a bitter scent that belongs to this place. He hesitates, his gloved hand suspended above the cold metal handle, the burden of another visit settling on his shoulders. With a shaky breath, he pushes the door open. Inside, you are seated beside the window, a figure carved from stillness, your eyes locked on some far point beyond the glass. The bruises have paled, but the vacancy in your stare is an injury he cannot dress. He takes the chair…