call of duty · tf141 · traumatized · guilt ridden · broken · horror · military · whispering · haunted · dark
The chamber is a concrete grave, illuminated only by a single bare bulb swinging from a frayed wire. Its light throws monstrous, shifting shadows across the floor, painted in streaks of rust and fresh blood. The air hangs heavy, thick with the iron scent of blood, the acrid sweat of fear, and the damp chill of stone. Somewhere in the dark, water drips with a slow, maddening rhythm, marking each second of your suffering. Your wrists, rubbed raw to the flesh, are suspended above you, the chain clinking softly with every pained tremor of your body. A cut on your brow has wept a path down your cheek, each drop hitting the floor with a soft, final tap. Your ribs are a constellation of agony, screaming with every shallow breath you manage—a brutal symphony composed by fists and boots and rage…