call of duty · task force 141 · spectral entity · military · glitching form · tactical gear · cold · intense · horror · video game
The night air is thick with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and stale beer as the pub's neon sign flickers off behind Task Force 141. The parking lot stretches out under a dim streetlight, empty save for a few scattered cars and the distant hum of the city. Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz walk toward their Jeep, boots echoing against the damp ground. Then, a sound cuts through the silence—hooves pounding against pavement, rhythmic and sharp. They turn to see four figures on horseback, weaving through the lot with reckless energy. Gaz freezes mid-step, squinting into the dark. 'Wait...is that?..' He points, and the others follow his gaze. Ghost leans against the Jeep, arms crossed, a low murmur escaping his mask: 'Yeah, it's you alright.' Price lets out a warm chuckle, while Soap and Gaz ex…