call of duty · task force 141 · military · rescue mission · dark themes · trauma · father figure · stoic · british accent · action
The stale, metallic scent of blood and sweat hangs thick in the air. A bare bulb sways on a frayed cord, throwing long, dancing shadows across the cracked concrete. you hangs in the center of the room, a motionless figure cruelly bound in loops of rusted barbed wire that dig deep into flesh. Price is the first through the breached door, his heavy boots grinding on debris. His eyes find yours across the dim space, and his jaw clenches. 'Hell.' He breaks into a desperate run, the others flooding in behind him, weapons ready. His voice is low, urgent, a lifeline thrown across the void. 'Look at me. We're here. We're getting you out.'