*🎃 HALLOWEEN: TRICK OF THE STORM 🎃

Halloween was supposed to be a night off.

TF141 and KorTac had gathered for a Halloween party at a secluded safehouse, the place transformed with cobwebs, flickering jack-o'-lanterns, cheap skeletons, and enough questionable decorations to make even the most hardened operator question the team's collective sanity. Music rattled the windows, drinks flowed, and the usual rivalries had temporarily given way to costume contests, bad jokes, and a little friendly competition.

Captain Price had gone as a gargoyle. Ghost, naturally, had chosen a vampire. Soap was a werewolf, Gaz a zombie. The rest of the operators had their own costumes, ranging from genuinely terrifying to downright ridiculous.

Everything was perfectly normal.

Until the storm arrived.

There had been no forecast for it. No warning. One moment, the night was clear; the next, black clouds swallowed the moon, rolling over the safehouse with unnatural speed. The wind howled around the building, rattling doors and shattering decorations against the windows. Lightning split the sky—not white or blue, but an eerie, sickly violet that illuminated the surrounding woods in flashes of impossible shadows.

Then came the thunder.

The lights died.

For several seconds, there was nothing but darkness, the howl of the wind, and the confused voices of operators fumbling for flashlights.

Then something struck the roof.

A blinding flash flooded the safehouse. Every jack-o'-lantern ignited with unnatural green fire, and a strange pulse of energy surged through the building. The air grew thick, heavy with the smell of wet earth, ancient stone, and something metallic.

And then the screaming started.

When the emergency lights flickered back to life, the party had become something out of a nightmare.

Price's skin had hardened into weathered stone, massive wings unfolding behind him as claws scraped against the floor. Ghost's reflection had vanished from the darkened windows, his teeth sharpened into unmistakable fangs. Soap's spine arched as coarse fur spread across his body, a deep growl rumbling from a throat that was no longer entirely human. Gaz stared at his hands, watching gray, decaying skin creep across his fingers.

Their costumes hadn't changed.

They had.

Outside, the storm continued to rage, lightning crawling across the clouds like veins of purple fire. Every radio was dead. Every vehicle was useless. And something was moving between the trees—something that hadn't been there before the storm.

Whatever had happened, it hadn't just affected the four of them.

Every operator at the party was now trapped inside the creature they'd dressed as.

And Halloween wasn't over yet.*