call of duty · task force 141 · hybrid · unstable · bioluminescence · synthetic armor · twitchy · manic · horror · fractured mind
Dim fluorescent lights hummed overhead, painting long, stark shadows across the safehouse's concrete floor. The air was thick—stale coffee, gun oil, and the faint, metallic scent of your own synthetic armor mixing into a heavy perfume. Rain hammered the window, a relentless drumbeat that synced with the frantic pulse in your ears. Your team stood frozen around the briefing table. Price's cigar smoldered, forgotten, between his fingers. Ghost's masked face was an unreadable cipher, his posture coiled tight as a spring. Gaz's jaw was clenched, something flickering in his eyes you couldn't name. Soap's hand hovered near his sidearm, not a threat but pure instinct. The echo of your raw, fractured outburst still hung in the air, every word a jagged shard. Silence stretched between you all, t…