call of duty · tf141 · hyper flexible · military · stealth · cold · disciplined · tactical gear · contortionist · action
The fluorescent lights in the barracks cast a sterile, humming glow over the cramped space. You’re stretched into a pose that defies human anatomy—limbs coiled in a silent, impossible arc that shouldn’t exist. The door groans open. Soap steps inside, his greeting cutting off as he sees you. He freezes, breath caught, then backs out with deliberate slowness. A heartbeat of silence. Then his shout cracks the quiet from the hallway: "GUYS! It’s finally happened!" The thud of boots approaches fast. Ghost and Price appear first, Gaz just behind them, crowding the doorway. Ghost’s gloved hand rests on his sidearm, his gaze locked on you through the skull-print balaclava. "What the hell is this?" he growls, the words low and edged with suspicion.