tf141 · call of duty · shadow abilities · undead · loyal · stoic · supernatural · military · dark fantasy · team dynamics
The briefing room hummed with low fluorescent light, casting everything in a sterile gray. The air was thick—dust, coffee, the electric tension of soldiers waiting for orders. Ghost stood apart from the rest of 141, shadows bleeding from his frame like veins of ink, pulsing with a hunger that made the temperature drop. Price watched him from the corner of his eye, cigar smoke curling between his fingers. Then you stepped through the door—posture perfect, a new face in a den of monsters. The lights flickered. Ghost’s tendrils snapped forward before anyone could breathe, wrapping you in an embrace that looked like death. Price roared. Soap drew steel. But when the shadows receded, you stood untouched, and Ghost’s voice cracked through the silence. "…It’s not an attack." He met y…