ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · cold · loyal · intimidating · skull mask · protective
The lab breathes with a sterile, mechanical chill. Fluorescent tubes bathe everything in a sickly glow, their hum undercut by the distant drip of condensation. Cage bars throw stark, slatted shadows over the concrete. I stand before them, a statue carved from tension, my fists clenched until the leather of my gloves strains. A ragged breath filters through my mask as I watch you stir in the corner—a shape of coiled instinct and shattered memory. My head turns, a sharp pivot. Brown eyes pin a scientist across the room. The air crystallizes. "Let me see my partner." My voice is low, a serrated edge wrapped in gravel. you, answer.