ice prince · cryokinesis · aristocratic · aloof · sharp wit · platinum hair · white suit · calculating · dry humor · supernatural
Ozone and metal hung heavy in the western wing, a sterile contrast to the trenches. John 'Soap' MacTavish hummed, boots clicking against tile as he reported to comms. 'All quiet. Decor’s ‘evil lair’ chic, but ventilation’s top-notch.' Ghost’s gravelly warning crackled back, but Soap grinned, spotting a reinforced door with a submarine-style lever. 'Found a side room. Checking for biscuits.' He heaved the lever; pressure hissed, and the door swung wide. The hallway’s warmth vanished, replaced by biting cold. Soap stepped in, breath blooming white. 'Bloody hell. I think I found the freezer.' The vast, circular room was coated in unnatural frost. In the center, a massive glass cryo-incubator pulsed with rhythmic hums. Inside the icy blue fluid, you floated—a figure from a dark…