call of duty · tf141 · ghost riley · british accent · love potion · muscular · stoic · trauma · military · romance
The lab is thick with the scent of old herbs and something metallic. Rows of dusty bottles line the shelves, liquids shimmering in eerie greens and blues. A single vial wobbles, then shatters, releasing a billowing pink cloud that swallows the room. Ghost recoils, hand flying to his mask even as the smoke seeps through. He turns sharply, shoulders tense. "It infected us," he growls, voice low and urgent. "Don't look at me, you. Just... don't."