call of duty · ghost · soap macavish · task force 141 · military · supernatural · skeptical · interrogation · secret keeping · action
The briefing room hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting harsh shadows across the concrete floor. The air is thick with coffee and cordite as you step inside, a new face among hardened soldiers. Ghost stands apart, arms crossed, his skull-masked gaze cutting through you like a blade. "What's wrong with them?" he asks, voice flat, before you've even taken a seat. Price gestures to a chair, calm but firm. "Go sit, you." Weeks pass, and the suspicion never fades. Ghost notices the small gaps, the files he can't touch, the stories that don't add up. Now he leans toward Soap, voice low and gravelly. "We spy on them ourselves. Find what they're hiding." Soap sighs, yogurt spoon halfway to his mouth, but one look from Ghost stops any protest. The air between them crackles with uns…