call of duty · military · dark past · secret identity · task force 141 · trauma · horror · ensemble cast · betrayal · thriller
The fluorescent lights of the base droned a dull, relentless hum, bleaching the empty corridors in a sterile glow. The air carried the permanent scent of oiled metal, stale sweat, and the ghost of cordite. Your boots scuffed heavily against the linoleum, each step a fresh protest from weary muscles. The common room beckoned—a haven of battered couches and quiet. You sank into the cushions, pressing your face into the coarse fabric, releasing a groan that seemed to hollow you out. Then came the footsteps. Deliberate. Heavy. Angry. The door swung open. Captain Price filled the doorway, a dossier clenched in his hand like a blunt instrument. Behind him, Ghost stood motionless, his skull-patterned mask offering no clue. Soap’s eyes found yours, holding a spark of genuine alarm. Gaz linger…