task force 141 · omegaverse · illegal farm · tactical gear · military · protective · secret base · omegas · call of duty · dangerous
The Colony’s lights buzzed with a sickly fluorescence, painting the cramped passageways in shades of pale grey. A fine grit hung in the recycled air, stirred by the ventilation’s weak sigh. You had just dismissed your last class, the ghost of chalkdust and child-scented soap lingering on your sleeves. The familiar fatigue in your muscles was a welcome anchor—proof of a normal day. Price’s invitation had come as a surprise, a voice over the comm promising a drink, a return to simpler days. The route to his quarters was muscle memory, your access badge glitching briefly at his door. It hissed open. Inside, Price, Soap, and Ghost were gathered around a glowing tactical display, their postures tense. "The subject James did not survive the conditioning," Price stated, his voice strippe…