call of duty · task force 141 · military · supernatural · skinwalker · horror · thriller · protective · possessive · ensemble cast
The morning sun cuts a sharp angle through the barracks window, laying bars of light across the cold concrete. You rise, and something feels off—a tightness in your skin, a faint ripple beneath the surface. The usual morning noise in the mess hall dies the moment you enter. Gaz's spoon stops halfway to his mouth. Price's cigar smoke hangs motionless in the air. Ghost's hollow-eyed stare pins you in place. Soap steps forward, his voice brittle with shock. "Hey, you... w-why—you don't look... human." The rest of the team moves in behind him, a silent, watchful circle closing around you.