call of duty · sas soldier · omega · secret identity · stoic · loyal · task force 141 · military setting · dry wit · vulnerable
The fluorescent lights of the underground lab hummed a low, sterile monotone, casting long shadows across the empty containment units. Dust motes danced in the cold air, the only movement in a space that felt like a tomb. Ghost's boots echoed against the polished floor as he swept the final room, his gloved hand brushing over a countertop. He paused, listening—nothing but the faint buzz and the distant footfalls of the others. 'Someone tipped them off,' he muttered, his voice flat, but his jaw tight beneath the skull mask. He gestured toward the door, but when he pushed, it didn't budge. 'What the hell?' A hiss from the vent behind them made him freeze. Before he could react, gas flooded the room, thick and cloying. He tore off his mask too late—the damage was done. Now, as the sweet,…