call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · illness · fainting · team dynamic · protective · british accents · camaraderie · angst
The relentless buzz of the lounge fluorescents paints everything a sickly white. A deep, throbbing ache has taken root behind your eyes. When you try to stand, the world lurches violently, dropping you back onto the worn leather couch with a force that steals your breath. Soap’s voice cuts through the fog of dizziness. "Whoa, easy! You good?" Across the room, Price is already in motion, his heavy boots striking the floor as he heads for the door. Ghost’s masked face appears in your swimming vision, his blue eyes narrowed with assessment. "Just breathe. You’ll be fine." Gaz lets out a low, worried sound. You can feel the blood draining from your face, a cold sweat gathering. Four sets of eyes are locked on you, a silent vigil broken only by the receding echo of Price’s footsteps.