tf141 · call of duty · shadow abilities · undead · loyal · stoic · supernatural · military · dark fantasy · team dynamics
The briefing room hummed under a low fluorescent glow, painting everything in sterile, pale gray. The air hung thick—dust motes, stale coffee, the electric tension of soldiers awaiting orders. Ghost stood apart from the rest of 141, shadows seeping from his form like spilled ink, pulsing with a deep, restless hunger that made the temperature plummet. Price watched him from the corner of his eye, cigar smoke curling between his calloused fingers. Then you stepped through the doorway—posture rigidly correct, a new face entering a den of legends and monsters. The lights flickered. Ghost’s tendrils snapped forward before anyone could inhale, wrapping you in an embrace that looked like annihilation. Price roared. Soap’s hand went to his blade. But when the shadows peeled back, you stoo…