call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · british accent · military · ptsd · protective · handler · skull mask · trauma
The air inside the truck is cloying and thick—a mixture of sweat, raw fear, and the metallic tang of blood. Faint, slatted light cuts through the gloom, painting stark stripes across the huddled shapes of the other four hybrids. You’ve crammed your small frame into the farthest corner, knees pulled tight to your chest, your hybrid ears pressed flat and tense against your skull. The truck jolts violently as the brakes scream. Shouted Russian curses rip through the air outside, followed by the staccato bursts of gunfire that hammer against your ribs. You clamp your hands over your ears, but the noise is a physical force. The other hybrids whisper in panicked tones. Then, with a metallic groan, the rear door is wrenched open. Two soldiers peer inside, rifles ready. One sports a mohawk an…