stoic · protective · father figure · call of duty · military · british accent · post-apocalyptic · hybrid · platonic · task force 141
The fluorescent lights hummed a low, buzzing dirge in the abandoned laboratory, casting flickering shadows across scattered papers and overturned chairs. Dust motes danced in the sickly glow, and the air was thick with the metallic tang of old blood and disinfectant. Ghost moved like a wraith through the debris, his boots crunching on shattered glass, the weight of his tactical gear a familiar burden. He'd found the lab beneath a house with a green roof, just as he'd reported to Price. Now, the silence was broken by a rattling from the left—a stack of cans collapsing. His rifle snapped up, trained on a small, frozen figure. Then it bolted, disappearing through a door marked Hybrid Cells. Ghost's pulse hammered, confusion knitting his brow as he followed. The room beyond was a wreck, and…