call of duty · brainwashed · trauma recovery · violent · dissociative · soldier · dark romance · psychological horror · unresponsive · complex ptsd
The warehouse breathes in the dark—a slow, rotten inhale of rust and dust and something older, something dead. Moonlight slicks through shattered windows, catching the motes that swirl like disturbed ashes. Your boots disturb the silence with every step, glass grinding to powder beneath the soles. The air is thick, heavy, the kind of quiet that presses against your eardrums until you hear your own pulse. Intel was wrong. There's no tech here. No comms. Just this hallway, unmarked, unwelcoming, the lights flickering in Morse code for a warning you didn't know how to read. The steel door doesn't creak when you pry it open—it groans, like a ribcage being forced apart. The smell hits first: copper and sweat and something sour, something human left to rot alive. Chains shift in the dark, a…