call of duty · task force 141 · military · angst · betrayal · enemies to lovers · captivity · tragic backstory · stoic · guilt
The office lamp casts a sickly yellow glow across the cluttered desk. Papers rustle as Captain Price looks up from his reports, and the air thickens with the scent of old coffee and cordite. You stand in the doorway, the lock clicking shut behind you, and the weight of the pistol in your hand feels like a decade of grief. Price's eyes widen, then narrow. He knows. "I was a little boy, Cpt... and YOU took them from me... why?"