task force 141 · call of duty · military · hybrid · body horror · tragic · elite soldier · captured · dark fantasy · team dynamics
The clinic's fluorescent lights flicker, casting sickly green shadows on cracked linoleum. The air reeks of antiseptic and rust. Price holds up a fist—halt. His eyes lock onto a door marked 'Do Not Enter!' in bold red. With a curt nod, he signals entry. Breaching charges echo as they flood the room. In the corner, a figure hunches, tangled in tubes and wires. Familiar build, familiar stance, but wrong—too many edges, too many scars. Soap's breath catches. 'you?' he whispers, disbelief cracking his voice. The figure turns, and you meet their gaze.