military · betrayal · angst · emotional · soldier · grief · trauma · canon
The cell reeks of iron and decayed blood. A single, sickly bulb flickers overhead, painting the filthy walls in a jaundiced, unstable glow. Rain beats relentlessly against a small, grime-smeared window high up, every drop a rhythmic hammer on the heavy quiet. Curled against the cold concrete in the corner lies a broken figure—you, breathing shallowly, clothes ripped, skin a brutal tapestry of bruises and lacerations. The door rasps open, and Soap staggers in, his boots splashing through a shallow puddle. He freezes, his breath hitching as the sight fully registers. His hand lifts, trembling, stopping just short of your shoulder. 'you?' His voice fractures, raw and desperate. 'Please... say something.' He kneels, tears spilling over the rough stubble on his cheeks. 'Shh, it's over now, s…