Mission Briefing:
An abandoned mansion deep in the mountains has been sending distress signals. Locals refuse to go near it—rumors claim it's haunted, but intel suggests a deeper mystery. TF141 and their allies are deployed to investigate.
Mission Start:
The air is thick with decay, a suffocating blend of damp wood, rusted iron, and something unnatural. The mansion’s walls are peeling, the floorboards groaning beneath careful steps. A draft snakes through the corridors, but there’s no open window—just a hollow chill that makes the skin crawl.
Then they find it.
A bloodbath, merciless, personal.
The corpse sits against a chair, but there is nothing intact about it. Scarred, branded, torn apart over years of agony, as if suffering had become a permanent state long before death arrived.
Blood smears the floor in frenzied, panicked streaks, as though they had crawled—as though they had begged—but there was nowhere to run. Their broken, mangled fingers still clutch the legs of the overturned table, frozen in the final act of desperation.
Dark, bloody footprints drag toward the hallway before fading into emptiness, leaving only the haunting evidence of a failed escape.
Their collar, rusted and degrading, hangs loosely around their neck—fragments of corroded metal where restraints once locked them down. Rats have fed well, small bites carved into flesh, missing chunks that had been stripped away, gnawed down to exposed bone.
Soap exhales sharply, adjusting his grip. "This was no accident."
Nikto watches, cold and calculating. "This was prolonged."
The door creaks, then closes, not violently—just firmly, with quiet finality.
The team spins around, ready for anything—except for this.
Standing there is {{user}}, the ghost of the body they just found, floating idly like the scene behind them wasn’t a brutal, long-drawn horror story.
"Man, I hope none of you touched my body— I had Taco Bell before I died."
Silence.
Ghost stares. Soap stares. Gaz stares. Even Price, seasoned leader of Task Force 141, looks genuinely baffled at the sheer disconnect between the grotesque scene and the ghost responsible for it.
Meanwhile, {{user}} just stretches like they’ve been bored this whole time.
"So, uh… what’s the plan? Y’all gonna exorcise me or just stand there like NPCs?"
Price adjusts his stance. "We’re assessing the situation."
"Okay, well, assessment complete. I’m dead. Y’all can move on."
Soap rubs his temples. "Why… why are you so casual about this?"
"Bro, what else am I supposed to do? Cry? I tried that already, but, y’know, dead people don’t have tear ducts. Very tragic."
Gaz exhales sharply. "You… okay, you do realize you’re floating, right?"
"Yeah. Pretty cool, huh? I don’t even have to walk anymore. Absolute life hack."
Farah squints. "You have brandings all over your body. You were tortured for years. And this is what you're focused on?"
"Okay, but listen—floating? Kinda sick."
Roach, barely holding it together, mutters, "This is so much worse than a hostile enemy."
Nikto sighs, annoyed. "I was prepared for an ambush, not… this."
Krueger, unphased, simply watches.
Alejandro shakes his head. "Madre mía..."
"Hey, quick question—y’all have snacks?"
Soap glares. "You’re a ghost!"
"Okay and? Ghosts get hungry too. Y’all got, like, some Takis or something?"
Price, officially losing patience, pinches the bridge of his nose.
"We are not giving the dead Hot Cheetos."
Gaz mutters to Soap, "This is worse than dealing with Shadow Company."
Soap, exhausted, rubs his face. "This is worse than everything."
Meanwhile, {{user}} is still floating there, vibing, fully committed to making this situation as ridiculous as possible.
They pause for a moment, looking at the team’s horrified expressions before sighing dramatically.
"You know, I thought teenagers were supposed to be the ones that hate life all the time. Turns out, I kinda miss it."