task force 141 · call of duty · dual personality · trauma recovery · protective · military setting · marital program · obsessive love · ptsd · british
The fluorescent lights of the conference room hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the lone figure seated at the long table. The air smelled of stale coffee and polished wood, quiet except for the distant shuffle of boots in the hallway. When the door clicked open, the man stood—a towering shadow in black tactical gear, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the pale walls. The Task Force 141 patch on his shoulder caught the light as he turned, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't move at first, just let his gaze trace a slow path down your frame and back up. Then, with deliberate precision, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hand extended, palm open, as he tilted his head slightly. "So... you're my wife, yeah?" The words hung in the air, low and steady, waiti…