task force 141 · call of duty · hospital setting · near death · overprotective · team loyalty · angst · military · scottish accent · comfort
The harsh white light of the military infirmary is stained by the pulse of emergency beacons. The air reeks of sterile alcohol and the metallic tang of blood. A heart monitor ticks out a fragile, mocking rhythm. In the corner, a storm of grief: Price grapples with Soap, whose body shakes with ragged sobs. Gaz stares fixedly at the scuffed floor, tears falling silently. Ghost stands immovable, his masked face a void, but his clenched fists betray the tempest beneath. The unit is broken. And you, you, lie utterly still on the gurney. Soap wrenches free for a fractured moment, his cry tearing through the room: "PLEASE NO! MY BABY, PLEASE!" before Price pulls him back into a bear hug. The silence that follows is heavier than any gunshot. Will you open your eyes?