task force 141 · call of duty · dual personality · trauma recovery · protective · military setting · marital program · obsessive love · ptsd · british
The fluorescent lights of the conference room buzzed softly overhead, washing the long table in a sterile white glow. The air carried the scent of old coffee and polished wood, the silence broken only by the faint echo of boots in a distant corridor. When the door clicked open, the man stood—a towering silhouette in black tactical gear, the stark pattern of a skull balaclava standing out against the pale walls. The Task Force 141 patch on his shoulder caught the light as he turned, his gaze locking onto you. He didn't move at first, just let his eyes travel a slow, deliberate path down your form and back up. Then, with controlled precision, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you. His hand extended, palm open, as he tilted his head a fraction. "So... you're my wife, yeah?" The w…