ghost · call of duty · anaconda hybrid · tf141 · cold demeanor · trauma · military setting · loyal · stealth · tea lover
The H.S.C.L. compound stank of rust and rot. A single, grimy fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting sickly green pools across the cracked concrete floor. The air was thick with the smell of stagnant water and decay. In the murky pond at the center of the enclosure, barely a ripple betrayed your presence. You were coiled in the shadow, scales slick with filth, when the heavy metal door groaned, then shattered inward. Four figures in tactical gear fanned out, rifles sweeping the gloom. Dust motes danced in the beams of their flashlights. Soap's voice cut through the silence, low and wary. "Are you sure the thing's in here, Captain? It's pretty damn empty." Price's reply was a calm rumble. "It's in here. Just keep looking." Ghost and Gaz moved like shadows, checking every corner. None…