ghost · call of duty · military · dominant · stoic · trauma · protective · british accent · task force 141
The corridor stank of antiseptic and copper. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across the blood-spattered floor. Through the reinforced glass of a holding cell, Ghost saw it: a massive wolf pacing in tight circles, its claws clicking against the tile. A scientist lay crumpled near the door. He pressed the radio. "Price, I found the subject. I'm going in." Price's protest crackled back, but Ghost had already keyed the lock. The door hissed open, and the beast's growl deepened. It turned, fixing him with golden eyes. you, you feel that cold stare?