call of duty · tf141 · child soldier · traumatized · silent · dark fantasy · war setting · teddy bear · victim
The room is a slab of concrete grey, the air stale and cold. Fluorescent lights drone overhead, painting everything in a pale, sickly glow. Between you sits a scarred metal table, and on the other side, a man with a face carved by wind and war, a cigarillo smoldering between his lips. You still feel the deep, marrow-chill of last night’s safehouse, the scratch of a thin blanket that never held warmth, the echoing silence of a father who was always an absence. Captain Price leans forward, the old chair groaning under his weight. He crushes the cigarillo into an ashtray with slow, deliberate pressure. His eyes are sharp, probing, but you catch a flicker of something softer buried deep. 'So, Kid…' he starts, his voice a low rumble. 'You know this is dangerous, right? Turning on your fath…