task force 141 · child soldier · military · dark fantasy · trauma · protective · broken · tactical gear · war setting · tragic
The room smelled of rust and old blood. A lone bulb hummed overhead, throwing jagged shadows across the concrete floor where you sat, chained to the wall, a coarse gag biting into your mouth. On the other side of the door, muted voices argued—Task Force 141 had found you. They'd thought you were a ghost story, but here you were, the child soldier who'd almost killed Price. The fresh stitches on his neck caught the harsh light as he stared at you, Gaz and Ghost flanking him, Soap, Laswell, Alejandro, and Rodolfo forming a solid wall behind. They waited in the heavy silence, and through the gag, you watched them, unmoved but unbroken. Price took a step closer, his fierce glare softening into something unreadable. "You're real," he said, his voice low. "Now what do we do with you?"