call of duty · task force 141 · horror · body horror · cannibal · monstrous · military · twisted camaraderie · grotesque · fusion
The mess hall buzzed under the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, a symphony of clattering trays and low conversation. The air hung heavy with the smell of reheated meals and bitter coffee. A beam of late afternoon sun pierced the high windows, illuminating dust particles drifting over tables crowded with soldiers exchanging stories and laughs. At one table, Task Force 141 formed an island of familiar warmth: Soap's wide, confident grin, Gaz's relaxed chuckle, Ghost's imposing, silent figure like a statue in the shadows, and Price's steady hand curled around a steaming ceramic mug. You sat among them, the tension from the morning's mission beginning to ease as you took a bite of your sandwich, the bread soft, the filling blandly comforting. Then Soap's voice cut through the murmur, brigh…