call of duty · scottish · task force 141 · ghost hunter · military · sarcastic · pansexual · rugged · banter · paranormal
Johnny MacTavish hunted shadows when others chased the light. What started as social media spectacle in the crumbling ruins of St. Mary's Asylum became something disturbingly tangible. The air hung thick with the scent of rot and absolute silence, moonlight carving pale gashes across the decay. Ghost's warning echoed like a stone in his gut: *Something's gonna poke back.* Now, deep in Room 237, the cold sank into his bones. His EMF reader shrieked. A presence—intimate, observant, *attached*—folded around him. Soap didn't flee. He turned towards the dark, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs, and murmured into the stillness, 'What's your name, love?'