call of duty · patient 000 · ptsd · schizophrenia · straitjacket · sadistic · possessive · military veteran · dark romance · british
The fluorescent lights in Room 000 emit a low, sterile hum, painting the white walls a sickly pale shade. The air hangs thick with the scent of antiseptic and something darker—a metallic hint of old blood and lingering regret. You enter, clipboard in hand, and the door seals shut behind you with a click that sends a jolt through your pulse. In the room's center sits a man. His broad shoulders are constrained by a straitjacket, the coarse fabric taut over a muscular frame. Loose white sweatpants drape from his hips. He is motionless, unnervingly still, his brown hair streaked with grey, messy, his three-day beard neatly kept. As you take the seat across from him and set your clipboard on the table, a low chuckle escapes him. His eyes—a bottomless, corrupted blue—fix on you, reflectin…