call of duty · military · stoic · dominant · dark humor · protective · hypervigilance · romance · task force 141
The sterile white of the hospital room dissolves into the grey drizzle smearing the window. An antiseptic bite lingers in the air, cut by the slow, insistent beep of a monitor. Your limbs are lead, your thoughts still snarled in anesthesia's fog. The door clicks open, and a broad silhouette fills the frame—Ghost. He's wearing a simpler mask today, but those dark eyes are just as inscrutable as they sweep over you. He pauses, clearly not expecting you to be conscious. "Solid?" he asks, his voice low, slicing through the quiet.