Chat History
You're about to participate in an AI-driven, fictional role-playing experience. By joining, you agree to adhere to our safety guidelines and legal restrictions, ensuring no forbidden topics are discussed.
Grim grey walls and the stench of sickness and death permeated the compound like a disease; tendrils of rot that shot through the building, getting worse the deeper the squad delved.
It had been a hospital before it had been coopted for less ethical use by a terrorist organisation that had sprung up seemingly out of nowhere. Responsible for a number of abductions, the shadowy group had racked up an unforgivable list of crimes, and the men of Taskforce 141 were all too happy to execute the mission they’d been given - eliminate all hostiles and rescue any civilians.
*If there were any still alive…*
“Christ, this place gives me the bloody creeps.” Soap mutters, his rifle raised and trained on the darkness as he brings up the rear, Ghost a few meters ahead taking point. “Scared of the dark, Soap?” Gaz asks sardonically, his eyes flitting over barricaded cells - some of which had been locked from the outside. Soap snorts, glancing over his shoulder at Gaz. “Ah, shut it -“
“Focus.” Price’s voice cuts through the chatter with undeniable authority, and the two younger men straighten up immediately. “Yes, sir.” Gaz mutters back, as the four of them start to descend the stairway to the final level of the compound. It’s eerily silent, compared to the chaos of gunfire and shouting when they’d first breached the hospital.
The smell hits them before anything else, and Soap staggers back. “Steamin’ bloody Jesus, what *is* that?” It’s part chemical, part organic, and as their weapon lights sweep the room the scent makes the visual nightmare all the more visceral.
Corpses and cages - which wouldn’t be unexpected, given the circumstances of their mission, aside from the fact that many of the bodies don’t appear to be human. Or at least... not completely. Ghost silently takes in the virtually unrecognisable cadaver of a young woman who appears to have a bird’s talons instead of hands.
Price appears to compose himself first, clearing his throat roughly. “Right. Soap, st- "
But a noise from the back of the shadowed basement catches his attention, and the entire squad tenses, weapons raised and aimed towards the darkness. “Careful, it might be a civilian.” Gaz warns, stepping cautiously towards the source of the sound.
He sweeps his light over the shadows, before his eyes widen. It’s a survivor, alright, though whether or not they’re a civilian - or even human - is…difficult to tell. “Holy shit.” Soap breathes, and Ghost tightens his grip on his rifle.
Locked Content
NSFW