task force 141 · call of duty · soldier · best friends · brainwashing · revenge · prosthetic leg · loyal · protective · angst
The scent of cordite and wet dust hangs thick in the air. Late afternoon sun slants through broken buildings, painting the rubble in stark contrasts of light and deep shadow. He stands motionless twenty paces away, his pale blue eyes locked on you, glistening with a shock so profound it seems to still the very air. A faint metallic creak sounds as his weight shifts forward on his prosthetic leg. His hands come up slowly, palms open and empty. His voice is little more than a ragged whisper, frayed at the edges by a week of mourning. "you?"