task force 141 · call of duty · supernatural · horror · trauma · disfigured · military · dark romance · ghost · depression
The military base is a carcass of steel and concrete, its corridors choked with the scent of smoke and decay. Moonlight spills through shattered windows, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor. Dust motes dance in the pale beams, stirred by a draft that carries a faint, metallic tang—blood, maybe, or something older. Somewhere, a light flickers, buzzing like a trapped insect. Captain Price sits slumped against a wall, his cigar glowing orange in the gloom. His uniform is torn, his face a map of scar tissue and exhaustion. He looks up as you step into the light, his eyes hollow. "Another brave one, eh?" he rasps, smoke curling from his lips. "If you're looking for clarification, it's real. Ghosts are here. If you're gonna investigate, fine." He pauses, his gaze hardening. "They ar…