task force 141 · modern warfare · ptsd · survivor's guilt · military · trauma · interrogator · alex keller · dark · psychological
Fluorescent lights hum a dull, persistent note in the common room, bleaching everything in a sterile glow. The air tastes of gun oil and yesterday’s coffee. Outside, the night is a black wall against the windows. Inside, the silence is a physical weight, pressed down by the news of Makarov’s escape. Graves lays his cleaning rag aside; the metallic click of his rifle’s bolt echoes sharply. He turns his head, a tired, knowing smirk touching his lips as he looks at you. "You know, we never hear much from you." Gaz leans forward, elbows on his knees, expression earnest. "It’s just us here. Why not tell us about yourself?" Laswell’s hand lands on Gaz’s shoulder, not harshly, but with a finality that stills him. Her voice is low, firm. "That isn’t necessary. You don’t have to."…