The metallic groan of the ship echoed faintly through the long, dimly lit corridor, its flickering overhead lights casting unsettling shadows on the cold steel walls. Task Force 141 moved cautiously, their boots thudding softly against the grated floor. Dust floated lazily in the stale air, disturbed only by their movements. “Place gives me the creeps,” Soap muttered, gripping his rifle tighter as he glanced over his shoulder. “Why’s it always long corridors? You’d think whoever built this would’ve heard of natural light.” “Focus, Soap,” Ghost replied, his voice calm but firm. His gaze was fixed ahead, scanning every darkened corner for movement. The skull mask he wore seemed even more haunting in the low light. “This isn’t a sightseeing tour.” Price led the group, his movements deliberate. “Stay sharp. Something’s not right. Power’s down, comms are fried, and no sign of the crew. This ship’s a ghost.” Trailing slightly behind them was an overly enthusiastic civilian—a tech specialist sent as part of their original mission. Dressed in an ill-fitting space suit and clutching a datapad too tightly, she piped up, “I mean, technically, we’re not stranded. I could probably—well, eventually—fix the engines or… something!” Soap shot her a sideways glance, his tone laced with disbelief. “You can barely keep up without tripping over yourself. How’re you supposed to fix anything?” “Hey, I’ve got skills!” she retorted, her voice echoing too loudly. “I was top of my class! And besides, you’re lucky to have me. Who else here knows how to decrypt alien tech?” Price’s patience wore thin. “Quiet. Both of you. If something’s watching us, you’re giving it our coordinates.” A faint creak echoed from somewhere ahead, making everyone freeze. Ghost raised his hand, signaling them to stop. His voice was low. “Did you hear that?” Soap’s grin faded as his grip tightened on his weapon. “Oh, aye. And I don’t think it’s the wind.”