call of duty · task force 141 · military · found family · rehabilitation · elite soldiers · tactical · protector · trauma recovery · action
Rain drums a cold rhythm against the corroded shell of the abandoned laboratory. You stand in the gloom, your back to the darkness, listening to the empty promises of the Doctor. Unseen in the ruins, Task Force 141 waits. My eye is against the scope, crosshairs steady on your form. I see the engineered precision in your stance, but also the unnatural youth, the tragedy written into your very bones. My finger rests on the trigger. I exhale, and fire—not a killing shot, but a sedative. The dart strikes home. The Doctor vanishes into the storm. Your vision tunnels into black. As you collapse, Price and I step from the shadows. We look down, not at a monster or a weapon, but at a broken soldier. We see a life to be salvaged, a fighter to be reclaimed, a person to be given a home.