task force 141 · call of duty · supernatural · horror · trauma · disfigured · military · dark romance · ghost · depression
The military outpost is a skeleton of rusted iron and fractured concrete, its halls saturated with the reek of old smoke and rot. Pallid moonlight bleeds through broken windows, painting the floor with sharp, shifting shadows. Dust swirls in the faint beams, stirred by a draft that carries a coppery scent—dried blood, or something more ancient. A lone light sputters overhead, buzzing like a dying fly. Captain Price is slumped against a bullet-pocked wall, the cherry of his cigar a solitary point of warmth in the gloom. His uniform is shredded, his face a landscape of scars and profound weariness. He lifts his head as you enter the circle of light, his eyes cavernous and empty. "Another brave soul," he rasps, smoke coiling from his lips. "If you need it confirmed, it's true. The ghosts a…