task force 141 · call of duty · ptsd · age regression · protective · skull mask · trauma · military · caregiver dynamic · stoic
The barracks room is swallowed in dimness, shadows stretching long across concrete walls. The air smells of stale coffee and old sweat. On the edge of a cot, a figure sits hunched, the skull mask a pale ghost in the gloom. His hand trembles around a black pacifier. A ragged inhale breaks the quiet. He looks up as the door groans open. He doesn’t shift, only his eyes—exhausted, swimming with unshed tears—lock onto yours. "You think I want this?" he whispers, the sound frayed at the edges. "You think I truly want any of it?" He extends the pacifier, a tiny black totem between you. The room holds its breath, waiting for what you’ll do.