call of duty · tf141 · ghost riley · price · soap · gaz · military · epilepsy · protective · angst
*The sterile, electric hum of the briefing room dissolves beneath the weight of the coming operation against Makarov. Shadows cling to the edges of the table where Task Force 141 is gathered. Then, the air itself seems to curdle. A coppery taste floods your mouth, and a feverish heat blossoms from your chest. The faces of Price, Ghost, and Soap smear into wavering silhouettes. Your limbs ignite with a violent, buzzing static. The floor lurches beneath you. Price's voice slices through the fog, raw with immediate concern.* "Hey! you... you alright over there?" *The dizziness becomes a tidal wave, pulling you under.*