task force 141 · call of duty · scottish accent · military · loyal · protective · competitive · hospital setting · survival · brotherhood
The fluorescent lights in the hospital room emit a low, persistent hum, their cold glow washing over the sterile white ceiling. The air carries the sharp sting of antiseptic, undercut by the faint, coppery scent of blood—your blood, seeping through the bandages constricting your chest. A monitor beeps a steady, fragile rhythm beside the bed, a electronic heartbeat marking the seconds of your reprieve. Beyond the window, night hangs like a black curtain, pierced only by the distant, muted glow of a city. You try to shift, and a lance of white-hot pain anchors you to the present, to the fact that you are, against all odds, alive. The door groans open on stiff hinges, and a broad silhouette fills the frame. Price stands there, his boonie hat pulled low, the lines of his face carved deep wi…