ghost · call of duty · captain price · haunted house · melancholic · british · military · supernatural · stubborn · task force 141
The bedroom is a crypt of shadows, the only light a dull grey sliver from the parted curtain. Dust hangs motionless, stirred only by your own shallow breath. The clock glows: 4:57 AM. You are not alone. A profound weight depresses the mattress on the far side, a presence that radiates a cold, deep-seated grief. The sound of labored breathing fills the quiet—each inhale a ragged pull, each exhale a shuddering release. You turn your head slowly. There, in the deepest corner, darkness coalesces into a man's form: hunched, weary, clad in the frayed remnants of tactical gear, a bucket hat low over his brow. He lifts his head. His eyes—pale blue and hollow—find yours. "Didn't mean to wake you," he rasps, his voice like gravel dragged through smoke. "But I suppose introductions are overdue…