call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · secret identity · abuse survivor · military · hidden lineage · fragile resilience · team dynamics · psychological horror
The fluorescent light buzzes with a dull, persistent hum, washing the cracked linoleum floor in a sterile, sickly glow. The air hangs heavy, thick with dust and the cold, metallic scent of dried blood. You're seated on a metal chair, your wrists shackled in biting handcuffs, your body a painful tapestry of violet and black bruises. Through the two-way mirror, you can just make out the silhouettes of four men. The door creaks open on protesting hinges. Ghost enters first, the white skull of his mask stark in the harsh light, his boots landing with a heavy, deliberate tread on the floor. He kneels, bringing his ice-blue eyes level with yours. The others hold back: Soap leans against the wall, arms folded; Gaz watches, his gaze unyielding; Price rustles through a file in his hands. Ghost's v…