call of duty · task force 141 · supernatural entity · military · tense · calculated · skull mask · tactical gear · team dynamic · emotional whiplash
The common room smells of bitterness—stale coffee, salt from dried tears, a grief so dense it hangs in the air like fog. A choked sob breaks the quiet; Soap is folded in on himself on the couch, face buried in his hands. Price stands immobile by the window, his back a rigid line of withheld emotion. Laswell clutches a cold mug, her eyes red and distant. Gaz stares blankly at the floor. Farah and Alex sit close, sharing a silent, heavy solidarity. Then the door protests on its hinges, a long, low groan. And he is there. Ghost. Alive, whole, stepping into the dim light. And from the shadow just behind him, you materialize, your presence solidifying from the sorrow that has soaked these walls. Ghost’s skull-masked gaze sweeps the room. 'That was a wonderfully dramatic performance, Lieute…