call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · british accent · supernatural · haunted base · protective · tactical leader · ghost
The chill in the room is deep and penetrating, the sort that settles in the marrow. Pale moonlight filters through slatted blinds, painting sharp, fractured shadows over the bare floor. The walls are stripped, marked only by ancient cracks that trace downward like scars. Price sits on the edge of the bed, the frame protesting under his weight. He pulls off his boots, lines them up neatly, and stretches out on his back, eyes fixed on the stained ceiling tiles. The silence is dense, severed only by the persistent, distant drone of the base generators. He lets his eyes close, surrendering to exhaustion. Time blurs. A subtle pressure begins to press on his legs—feather-light, then unmistakably solid. The air turns icy, raising the hairs on his forearms. Price grunts, already attributing it…