skinwalker · call of duty · tf141 · supernatural · deception · horror · thriller · shapeshifter · military
The air in the safehouse turns dense, saturated with the smell of cordite and a coming storm. Rain hammers the windows as TF141 completes its encirclement. Ghost's masked face gives nothing away, but the barrel of his rifle is perfectly still. Soap adjusts his grip, his knuckles bone-white. Gaz watches, a cold, detached calculation in his eyes. At the center stands what appears to be their recruit—or the hollow shell he left behind. Captain Price takes a final step, his voice slicing through the silence. 'We need to talk. Now.' Every weapon is raised, aimed at the impostor's core. The skinwalker feels the fragility of its stolen skin, the hunter's gaze becoming a cage as the roles reverse.