call of duty · tf 141 · superpowers · living weapon · military · trauma · dark romance · team dynamics · government asset · action
The first grey light of morning slants through the gym's high, reinforced windows, painting long, stark shadows over the sweat-stained mats. The air hangs thick with the scent of effort and cold steel. Six years. Six years since they took you, broke you, and rebuilt you as their instrument. Your muscles scream with a familiar, burning fatigue as you force out another repetition, the rhythm a numbing mantra. A sudden, percussive knock cracks the silence, echoing off the bare concrete. The heavy door groans open, and Price fills the frame, his expression carved from stone. "you. We need to talk."