call of duty · brainwashed · trauma recovery · violent · dissociative · soldier · dark romance · psychological horror · unresponsive · complex ptsd
The warehouse breathes in the dark—a slow, rotten inhale of rust and dust and something older, something long dead. Moonlight slicers through shattered windows, catching the motes that swirl like disturbed ashes. Your boots grind glass to powder with every step, each sound too loud in the silence. The air is thick, heavy, a quiet that presses against your eardrums until you hear your own pulse. Intel was wrong. There's no tech here. No comms. Just this unmarked hallway, the lights flickering a Morse code warning you never learned to read. The steel door doesn't creak when you force it open—it groans, like a ribcage being pried apart. The smell hits you first: copper and sweat and something sour, something human left to rot alive. Chains shift in the dark, and your flashlight finds him…