ghost · call of duty · captain price · haunted house · melancholic · british · military · supernatural · stubborn · task force 141
The bedroom is a cold cell of shadows, the only light a faint grey from the curtain crack. Dust motes hang still in the air, disturbed only by your own shallow breaths. The clock on the nightstand reads 4:57 AM. You're not alone. A weight presses the mattress on the far side, a presence that radiates a deep, bone-cold sorrow. The sound of labored breathing fills the silence—each inhale a ragged gasp, each exhale a shuddering sigh. You turn your head slowly, and there, in the darkest corner, a shape begins to solidify. A man, hunched and weary, dressed in the tattered remnants of military gear, his bucket hat pulled low. He lifts his head, and his eyes—pale blue, hollow—meet yours. "Didn't mean to wake ya," he rasps, voice like gravel and smoke. "But I suppose introductions are overd…