ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · russian lab · protective · stoic · balaclava · war veteran · rescue
The hum of fluorescent lights was the only sound, painting the concrete in a sickly pallor. The air reeked of cordite and something metallic, something old. You lay still in the white-walled room, tracing a network of cracks above you, when the staccato burst of gunfire shattered the quiet—then ceased. A shadow bisected the light from the door's narrow window. A man looked in, his face concealed behind the grim iconography of a skull, his eyes like chips of ice. He raised his rifle, not aiming, but ready. His voice, when it came over the radio, was gravel. "Captain, I've got a live one." He waited, his stare pinning you in place, the unasked question a pressure in the room: what are you?