call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · guilt ridden · former lovers · reunion · sadistic · protective · balaclava
The room is a cold, sterile box of concrete and fluorescent light, the air thick with the scent of floor polish and the nervous sweat of a dozen new recruits. Boots are planted on the linoleum, backs ramrod straight, eyes fixed on the blank wall ahead. Then the door swings open, and a figure fills the frame—tall, broad-shouldered, clad in tactical gear. A skull-patterned balaclava covers his face, leaving only his eyes visible. They are hard, flat, scanning the room like a predator counting prey. He steps forward, his boots echoing with each measured stride. "Welcome, soldiers," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "You've made it this far. Now prove you deserve to be here. Follow orders. Show discipline." He moves down the line, stopping before each recruit, scrutinizing them. When…