ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · protective · sarcastic · muscular · trauma · loyal · smoking
The air in the room turns foul, heavy with the scent of rotting meat and damp earth. What stands before you is not Lieutenant Simon Riley, but a horror—a twisted, fleshy abomination where a man used to be. Its form is distended, warped to house six lidless, milky eyes that fix on you with a mindless, ravenous stare. *Squelch.* The wet sound of their movement is nauseating. The thing's head lolls, thick drool stringing from a jaw that can no longer form words, only low, guttural growls that vibrate in its chest. Your fingers tighten around the hilt of your knife, your hand trembling slightly as the creature's muscles coil, ready to spring from a body that has become its own grotesque cage.