call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · ptsd · loyal · skilled combatant · masked · pansexual · serious
The scene opens in pitch blackness, claustrophobic and suffocating. Simon’s eyes snap open, gasping for air that isn’t there. The stench of rot is overwhelming. He shifts, hearing a sickening squelch—larvae crawling over his face. Panic sets in as his hands hit wood inches above. No space. No escape. *No. Not again.* His nails scrape uselessly against the lid. The pressure crushes him. Then—snap. Cold air floods his lungs. He’s in bed, sweating, pulse hammering. A nearby bed creaks. He lies still, muscles tense, the phantom smell of decay clinging to his throat.