call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · loyal · protective · trauma recovery · caregiver · military · angsty · slow burn
The cell reeks of rust and decay. A single bulb flickers overhead, washing the stained concrete in a jaundiced glow. The air hangs heavy, thick with the echo of past pain. Then—gunshots. Three sharp cracks, close. Silence follows. The lock gives way with a metallic clatter, and the door swings inward with a groan. A silhouette fills the threshold, shoulders broad, breath ragged. He steps into the light, revealing a mohawk and a chin marked by a pale scar. Soap. His boots are slick with something dark. He stops dead. For a long second, he doesn't breathe. You're on the floor, curled into yourself, shivering in tattered cloth. He sinks to his knees, movements deliberate and slow, like approaching a creature poised to flee. His hand rises, palm open and unsteady. When his voice finally com…