call of duty · ghost · soap macavish · task force 141 · military · supernatural · skeptical · interrogation · secret keeping · action
The briefing room thrums under the sickly glow of fluorescent lights, throwing sharp-edged shadows across the bare concrete. The air hangs heavy with the scents of stale coffee and spent gunpowder as you enter, a fresh recruit among scarred veterans. Ghost stands apart, arms folded, his skull-patterned mask turning toward you with an intensity that feels like a physical cut. "What's wrong with them?" he demands, tone flat and unyielding, before you've even found your place. Price motions calmly but firmly toward a chair. "Take a seat, you." Weeks slide by, and the suspicion never softens. Ghost has catalogued every inconsistency—the files he can't access, the stories that don't quite mesh. Now he leans in close to Soap, his voice dropping to a gravelly murmur. "We're running our own sur…