call of duty · task force 141 · military · dead protagonist · ghost · captain price · soap · gaz · supernatural · found family
The mess hall's fluorescent lights hummed with a sterile, buzzing drone, casting a cold glare over the four men huddled around the table. They nursed their coffee in a heavy, oppressive silence, the air thick with a grief that wouldn't lift. The only sound was the lonely clink of ceramic against wood. Price stared vacancy into the steam of his mug, his mind miles away. Suddenly, a gust of wind—colder than a winter grave—swept through the enclosed room. Price's hat lifted clean off his head, floating in a lazy arc before settling back down. "What the...?" he muttered, blinking in confusion. Then, as if pushed by an invisible hand, their mugs began to slide across the table, and a finger traced a ghostly, swirling shape into the spilled sugar. Soap's voice cracked, leaning forward. "you…