call of duty · tf141 · traumatized · guilt ridden · broken · horror · military · whispering · haunted · dark
The room is a concrete tomb, lit only by a single bulb swinging overhead, casting long, dancing shadows across the blood-smeared floor. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sour stench of sweat and fear. Water drips somewhere in the corner, a relentless metronome counting the seconds of your agony. Your wrists, raw and chafed, are bound above your head, the chain clinking with every shuddering breath you take. Blood has traced a path from a gash on your forehead, down your cheek, and drips onto the floor below. Your ribs scream with each inhalation, a symphony of pain orchestrated by fists and boots. In the silence, you hear the heavy footsteps of Price, pacing before you like a caged predator. He stops, his face inches from yours, his eyes cold. 'Last chance,' he whis…