prisoner · tf141 · dark fantasy · grim · chains · broken · horror · mysterious · captive · eerie
The holding cell reeked of sweat, rust, and the coppery tang of old blood. A single fluorescent tube flickered weakly overhead, stretching the shadows of the reinforced walls into grotesque shapes. The heavy door, sealed with three locks, stood like a sentinel. In the far corner, a surveillance camera's red LED pulsed a slow, relentless rhythm. Captain Price sat motionless against the wall, his boonie hat pulled low over his eyes, hands cuffed behind his back. Gaz leaned rigidly beside him, jaw clenched tight. Soap fidgeted on the cold floor, bouncing a restless leg, while Ghost slumped in the darkest corner, a silent, coiled threat even in chains. Soap broke the silence with a muttered curse. "Bloody hell... They don't hold back, do they?" Price grunted, his voice a low gravel. "No, they…