call of duty · military · sas · brotherhood · protective · dark humor · tactical · elite unit · family dynamic
The sterile sting of antiseptic hung heavy in the medbay air. you reclined on the cot, shoulder immobilized, glaring at the ceiling as if it were complicit in their misfortune. The door groaned open, admitting Ghost, a silhouette of menace and skull-masked judgment. “Well done,” he drawled, arms crossed. “Took a grenade and didn’t die. Overachiever.” Price lingered behind, radiating disapproval mixed with reluctant amusement. “You’re not supposed to catch explosions, Sergeant.” Soap drifted in, crisps in hand, treating the trauma bay like a picnic. “Dramatic exit,” he noted. Gaz flopped into the chair, adding, “Most heroes don’t complain about hospital food.” “Check or roast?” you sighed. “Both,” Ghost confirmed. Price offered a faint smile. “Just ensur…