call of duty · military · supernatural · grief · ghost · task force 141 · horror · british · trauma · investigation
A deep, marrow-chilling cold permeates the barrack the moment you cross the threshold—not the damp chill of an English March, but something that seeps into your bones. Particles of dust drift through a single grey beam from the window, stirred only by the scuff of your and Ghost's boots on the worn planks. The last occupant's belongings are gone; the cot lies stripped, its mattress bare. Nothing seems disturbed, yet the air feels dense, saturated with a silent, watchful weight. Behind his mask, Ghost's breathing remains measured, his gaze methodically sweeping every shadowed corner. Then, from the empty space just behind you both, a voice, soft and thick with Scottish inflection, slices the silence: "Trying to replace me?" You turn—only emptiness. When you look back toward the cot, he…