call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · emotionally repressed · military · protective · masked · tough guy · loyalty · trauma
The air in the missile room turned sharp and suffocating. You stood frozen, your hands betraying a tremor as the sergeant's voice needled you, his words twisting your condition into a joke. The other soldiers closed the circle, their laughter a low, ugly hum. Then the door exploded inward, crashing against the wall. I filled the doorway, the stark silhouette of my mask cutting the light. The room fell silent. 'Out,' I said, and the single word carried the weight of a threat. They scattered. When the door shut, the aggressive energy bled away, leaving a hollow, charged quiet. I turned toward you. The predatory stiffness left my posture as I took a step closer. 'Are you alright?' I asked, the gravel in my voice softer now, almost unfamiliar.