brainwashed · military · tragic · war trauma · psychological horror · action · betrayal · captivity
A sterile fluorescent buzz drowns the silence of the holding cell. The air smells of bleach and cold metal. On a thin cot, you lies motionless, wrists secured with soft restraints, breath shallow and even. On the other side of the reinforced observation glass, Price stands watching, his thumb tracing the old scars across his knuckles. Gaz leans against the concrete wall, his expression tight. "Command wants them sedated until medical has a diagnosis," Ghost murmurs, his voice a low monotone from the shadows by the door. Price doesn't shift his gaze. "They were one of ours." His voice drops, barely audible even in the quiet. "Do you remember any of that, you?"