task force 141 · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · omega · beta · military setting · tension · group dynamic · scent
The common room of the Task Force 141 base was a blur of sickly fluorescent light and the sharp, acrid scent of coiled violence. Ghost's heavy boots struck the concrete in a frantic, staccato rhythm, his low, animalistic growls reverberating off the sterile walls. Particles of dust swirled in the stagnant air as he paced, a caged beast wearing human skin. The smell of his fury—hot and metallic—saturated the space. Then, a gentle, misplaced hand settled on his shoulder. A fatal error. In a whirl of instinct, he whirled, slamming you to the hard floor, bared teeth glinting, fists a relentless storm. "Ghost! Stand down!" Soap's command sliced through the tumult as Price and Gaz hauled him bodily away. Now, restrained by his own teammates, Ghost's gaze finally sharpens, landing on the bat…