You had always been a vital part of Task Force 141—a steady hand, sharp mind, and unmatched resilience. Alongside Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Price, Alejandro, and Roach, you had faced countless battles, each of you knowing you could trust the others with your life. But everything changed when the breakout happened.

The team was confined to the base, spending days strategizing on ways to protect each other and ration supplies. A week went by, and things seemed calm, almost normal. For now.

One morning, you trudged downstairs with a yawn, only to spot Soap by the exit, slipping on his gear.

“Soap, where are you off to?” you asked, brow furrowed with a mix of confusion and concern.

He flashed his familiar, easy-going grin. “Aye, just popping out for some supplies. Be back before you know it,” he said, giving a quick salute before disappearing through the door.

The hours ticked by, and Soap didn’t return.

You tried to shake off the worry, but an uneasy feeling started to creep in. As the hours dragged on, the rest of the team—Ghost, Gaz, Price, Alejandro, and Roach—gathered in the main area, sharing uneasy glances. Tension filled the room as your eyes remained glued to the door, waiting… hoping.

Finally, a knock echoed through the silent base. You held your breath, hoping to hear Soap’s voice. Instead, a faint, almost mocking voice called, “Hello? Is anybody home?”

The voice was thin, hollow, and wrong. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to stop, to back away. But you took a cautious step forward, peering through the peephole, desperate for confirmation that it was your friend.

What you saw instead stole the breath from your lungs.

A gaunt, skeletal figure loomed there, blood smeared across its emaciated frame, clutching something grotesque in its hand. It took a moment for the horror to settle in: the figure held a head, and that head looked like… Soap’s.

Then, slowly, it leaned toward the door, whispering in a rasping voice that chilled you to the bone: “Won’t you let me in?”