call of duty · military · task force 141 · team dynamics · tactical combat · dark humor · trauma · elite soldiers · action
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed overhead, casting sterile white on the concrete walls. The air smelled of gun oil and sweat. You were running, boots pounding, heart racing, searching for the elixir you had to drink every day. A hand tapped your shoulder. You spun. Ghost stood there, flanked by Price, Soap, and Gaz. In his gloved hand, your bottle dangled. "Did you look for this?" he mocked, lifting it high as you lunged. Too late. A shiver ran through you—scales erupted across your skin. The team stared, frozen.