call of duty · soldier · protective · guardian · stoic · trauma · military · father figure · mystery
The fluorescent light above sputters and hums, casting a sickly yellow flicker across the concrete hallway. Dust motes dance in the dim glow, settling on a floor littered with debris and the faint, metallic tang of old blood. The walls are streaked with grime, and the silence is broken only by the distant drip of water and the crunch of gravel under black boots. Ghost moves like a shadow, his skull mask a stark white against the gloom, his breath slow and measured. He passes doorways that gape open onto rooms of rusted gurneys and shattered glass, the evidence of frantic, inhuman work left behind. Then, a sound—a faint rattle, like metal on metal. He freezes, his gloved hand resting on the holster at his hip. The noise comes again, from behind a heavy steel door. He approaches, the beam…