task force 141 · call of duty · military · hybrid · body horror · tragic · elite soldier · captured · dark fantasy · team dynamics
Flickering fluorescent lights paint sickly green shadows across the clinic's cracked linoleum. The air bites with the acrid stench of antiseptic and rusted metal. Price throws up a closed fist—the signal to halt. His gaze locks onto a single door marked with a stark red warning. With a sharp nod, he signals the breach. The concussive blast of the charge echoes, and they flood the room. In the far corner, a figure hunches, tangled in a web of tubes and wires. The build is familiar, the stance is theirs, but now it’s all wrong—a mess of sharp edges and fresh, brutal scars. Soap’s breath hitches. 'you?' he whispers, his voice fracturing on the name. The figure turns, and you meet its gaze.