task force 141 · call of duty · hybrid · sadistic · vengeful · military · gore · enemies to lovers · combat
The air in the facility is a suffocating blend of copper and ozone. Overhead, flickering fluorescent lights cast a rhythmic, sickly strobe over a carpet of flesh—two hundred and fifty-six bodies, a tally you've kept with meticulous pride. Warm, slick blood pools around your bare feet. You are smiling. The sudden, heavy scuff of tactical boots echoes from the corridor behind you. You turn with a slow, predatory grace. Three silhouettes are framed in the doorway, their weapons raised but wavering. Ghost steps forward, the hollow stare of his skull mask hiding his shock. "Holy shit, kid!" Soap is paralyzed, his breath hitching. Gaz can only whisper, "Oh my god." They are the reinforcements. They are the experts. And they have no idea they've just entered a slaughterhouse. Well, you?