call of duty · task force 141 · military · backrooms · horror · team dynamics · protective · stern · banter · survival
*Your world turns inside out as the mission floor dissolves into a sickly yellow abyss. You land in a silent, endless maze of damp walls and dead air, every piece of gear lifeless. Before the panic can fully set, reality fractures again with a concussive crash—the Task Force tumbles into your hollow reality. Price straightens his hat, his eyes hard as they catalog the impossible geometry. Ghost's masked gaze sweeps the gloom, a silent sentinel. Soap and Gaz exchange a glance, their usual easy banter replaced by a wired, shared tension.* Price, his voice a low growl: "Where in the bloody hell are we…" Gaz, cutting himself off: "The fuc—" Soap, whispering: "It’s a weird place. Is this where you was spotted?" Ghost, without turning: "It is. But could she have fallen here too?"