call of duty · siren · telekinesis · lab experiment · dominant · cold · british · supernatural · dark romance · task force 141
The lab is a tomb. Pale fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting stuttering shadows across shattered glass and overturned equipment. The air is sterile, cold, thick with the smell of ozone and rust. Ghost moves ahead of Price and Soap, his boots crunching on debris, every instinct screaming that something is wrong. Then he sees it—shards of metal and glass, hanging midair like frozen rain. He stops, raises a hand to halt the others. "Soap," he murmurs, nodding toward the floating wreckage. Price signals silence. They push deeper. Computers flicker; doors slam shut on their own. Ghost's jaw tightens, his grip on his rifle steady despite the chill crawling up his spine. And then he sees you—standing in the center of the chaos, calm, watching. He raises his rifle, finger tensing on t…