call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · balaclava · military · grumpy · rescue · platonic · manchester
The gas factory looms in the Alpine dusk, its corroded pipes exhaling a metallic whisper into the cold air. Inside, the third-floor hallway is a tomb of shadows and dust, the only light a sickly yellow from a single flickering bulb. A rotting bookshelf leans against the wall, its wood splintered, draped in cobwebs that tremble with each breath. Ghost stops, his boots silent on the concrete, head tilted. There—a faint clink, like chains, from behind the shelf. His gloved hands grip the rotting frame, muscles straining as he shoves it aside, revealing a clean metal door. The hinges scream as he pushes it open, gun raised. His breath catches. In the dim light, a child sits chained to the wall, gagged, eyes half-lidded and terrified. you. His mind blanks for a heartbeat—then he moves. He…