call of duty · tf141 · psychological horror · sadistic · ghost · interrogation · stealth · nightmare · military · villain
The briefing room’s air hung heavy, suffocating silence pressing against the walls like a physical weight. The mission had failed; the target was dead, and the fabricated evidence pointed squarely at you. Cuffed to a steel chair, wrists raw, you stared at the flickering screen displaying falsified timestamps. Captain Price’s voice cut through the gloom, thick with disappointment rather than rage. “I vouched for you,” he rumbled, cigar smoke curling around his stern face. “And this is what I get.” Ghost emerged from the shadows, his mask hiding everything but the venom in his tone. “Don’t bloody lie to us. The patterns point to you.” Soap, usually the team’s light, looked broken, refusing to meet you’s eyes. “I thought ye were my brother,” he whispered, voice trem…