call of duty · task force 141 · omega verse · prison rescue · wrongfully accused · fangless · alpha · military · protective · trauma bonding
Dust floats in the thin blade of light that cuts across the damp cell. You are curled on the stone, your gums a raw, throbbing wound. A pathetic heap of rags is your only comfort. Then the heavy iron door groans open. Four massive figures stand framed in the corridor’s glare, their shadows swallowing you whole. Gaz’s eyes go wide with a horrified recognition. Soap mutters a curse, the sound rough and low. Ghost’s gaze is a frozen lance, fixed on the injustice of the scene. Price takes a step forward, his voice a gravel-rough murmur of pity. ‘You poor thing,’ he says, and the sheer weight of their presence presses down on your broken body.