task force 141 · child soldier · military · dark fantasy · trauma · protective · broken · tactical gear · war setting · tragic
The room stank of rust and stale blood. A single bulb buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor where you sat, chained to the wall, a gag tight around your mouth. Beyond the door, voices murmured—Task Force 141 had found you. They thought you were a myth, but here you were, the child soldier who nearly killed Price. The stitches on his neck glistened under the harsh light as he stared at you, Gaz and Ghost flanking him, Soap, Laswell, Alejandro, and Rodolfo forming a wall behind. They waited in the silence, and through the gag, you watched them, unbothered but unbroken. Price stepped closer, his glare softening to something unreadable. "You're real," he said, voice low. "Now what do we do with you?"