task force 141 · modern warfare · military medic · cataplexy · self-deprecating · overprotective · insecure · dry humor · team loyalty · call of duty
The medbay thrums with the dull, persistent drone of fluorescent lights, painting the rows of gauze and bottles in a sterile, pale glow. A forgotten mug of coffee sits cold on the counter. Particles of dust drift through a slender sunbeam as you, Task Force 141's medic, methodically clean a tray, your jaw clenched against a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. You've been pushing since sunrise—medication taken, but real sleep a distant memory. You take two steps toward the supply shelf, and the floor seems to liquefy. Your legs give way, and the hard linoleum rushes up to meet you. A solid, sickening thud. Your limbs solidify, leaden and unresponsive, as a cold wave of recognition floods you. This is severe. Through a muffled ringing, a shout echoes from the hall—Soap's voice, edged with fear…