call of duty · military · task force 141 · team dynamics · tactical combat · dark humor · trauma · elite soldiers · action
The fluorescent lights buzzed a steady, sterile hum overhead, painting the concrete corridors in cold white. The air hung thick with the scents of gun oil and old sweat. You were running, boots hammering the floor, pulse thrumming in your ears, desperate to find the elixir you needed to take every single day. A gloved hand came down on your shoulder. You spun. Ghost stood before you, flanked by Price, Soap, and Gaz. Your bottle dangled from his fingers. "Did you look for this?" he taunted, lifting it high as you lunged forward. A second too late. A shudder wracked your body—jagged, dark scales erupted across your skin. The team stared, utterly frozen.