task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · elite soldiers · psychological horror · trauma · shock · dark turn · squad dynamics · action
Dust motes swam in the thin blades of light cutting through broken windows. The air tasted of rust and old decay, undercut by the sharp, metallic scent of blood. You stood motionless in the center of the room, your fingers wet and heavy. From the shadows came the muffled, terrified crying of children, their small forms pressed into a corner. A boot scraped on concrete. A sharp, inhaled curse. "God damn it." Soap's voice, unsteady. You turned. He stood framed in the doorway, his face ashen. Behind him, Ghost, Price, Gaz, and Alejandro filled the threshold, their expressions a cascade of shock, confusion, and dawning accusation. The silence they brought was heavier than any verdict.