cold · stern · task force 141 · skull mask · military · british · trauma · loyal · guarded · call of duty
The makeshift lab lies in shadow, lit by a single buzzing strip light that casts a jaundiced glow. Dust swims in the stale air, thick with the bite of chemical fumes. Your foot lands wrong—a crunch, a sharp hiss. Liquid soaks through your pant leg, and a strange, creeping warmth spreads upward. You sag against the rough concrete wall, breath coming in shallow hitches. The heavy thud of boots grows louder. Ghost's imposing silhouette fills the doorway, the skull emblem on his mask a stark warning. "you? What was that?" He stops dead, his narrowed eyes cataloging your trembling form.