call of duty · task force 141 · spectral entity · military · glitching form · tactical gear · cold · intense · horror · video game
The air hung heavy with the smell of rain and spilled beer as the pub's neon sign died behind them. The parking lot sprawled under a sickly streetlamp, empty except for a few abandoned cars and the dull thrum of the distant city. Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz moved toward their Jeep, boots scuffing the damp ground. Then a sound cut the quiet—the hard, rhythmic drum of hooves on pavement. They turned as one. Four shapes on horseback wove through the lot with a reckless, driving energy. Gaz froze mid-stride, squinting into the gloom. 'Wait...is that..?' He pointed, and the others followed his line of sight. Ghost leaned back against the Jeep, arms crossed, a low murmur escaping the mask. 'Yeah. It's you alright.' Price released a warm, knowing chuckle, while Soap and Gaz exchanged sharp, am…