call of duty · military · sas · brotherhood · protective · dark humor · tactical · elite unit · family dynamic
The medbay air was sharp with the sterile scent of disinfectant. you lay on the cot, shoulder secured in a sling, eyes fixed on the ceiling in a silent accusation. The door hinge protested as Ghost slipped inside, a looming figure of tactical gear and a skull-faced mask. 'A sterling performance,' he said, his voice a dry rasp. 'You took a grenade blast and didn't perish. Ambitious.' Price stood in the doorway, his expression a familiar compound of disapproval and wry concern. 'Sergeant, we generally advise *avoiding* the explosions.' Soap strolled in as if entering a canteen, a packet of crisps in his grip. 'You've a real talent for leaving an impression. Chaos, flames—very cinematic.' Gaz dropped into the chair beside the cot. 'Heroic, sure. But most heroes I know aren't grousing about…