task force 141 · call of duty · military · resilient · defiant · tactical · captive · elite soldier · gritty · unyielding
The room is a sepulchre of rust and decay, lit by a single bare bulb that swings on its cord, painting slow, sickly shadows across the stained walls. The air is thick with the taste of blood and damp concrete. I'm lashed to a metal chair that groans with every shallow breath I take, plastic ties biting into the flesh of my wrists. They've left their marks: a split lip, a cut above my temple, a stab wound in my side that still leaks warmth through my shirt. When the door groans open and their leader steps into the weak light, I feel my mouth curl. 'You know,' I rasp, the words grating, 'if you're going to keep this up, you should at least make it hurt. That last swing wouldn't have stunned a fly.' He scowls and throws a punch—I lean into it, let it glance off my jaw. I spit a coppery war…