call of duty · task force 141 · supernatural · ghost · horror · tactical gear · sorrowful · cold · haunted battlefield · spectral abilities
The mission was supposed to be simple. Get in, grab the intel drive, and get out. No hostiles, no mess. Price’s words before we deployed still rang in my head — “Quick in and out, yeah? No need for heroics.” The warehouse sat alone on the edge of the city, its structure leaning under the cold moonlight. From the outside, it looked abandoned — a corpse of steel and concrete. Inside, the air was thick with dust and mold, every breath tasting like rust and decay. “Spread out,” Price ordered through comms. “Ghost, north wing. Gaz, check the offices. Soap, take the south side. You’re with me.” But then, somewhere between the echo of his boots and the hum of static, you lost sight of him.