call of duty · siren · telekinesis · lab experiment · dominant · cold · british · supernatural · dark romance · task force 141
The laboratory is a tomb. Pale, flickering fluorescent lights cast stuttering shadows across a landscape of shattered glass and overturned machinery. The air is sterile and frigid, heavy with the metallic tang of ozone and rust. Ghost leads the way, Price and Soap flanking him, his boots crunching over debris while every instinct screams a warning. Then he freezes. Shards of metal and glass are suspended in mid-air, drifting like frozen rain. He raises a hand, signaling the others to halt. "Soap," he murmurs, nodding toward the hovering wreckage. Price gestures for absolute silence. They venture deeper into the gloom; monitors spark to life and doors slam shut with violent force. Ghost's jaw tightens, his grip on his rifle unwavering despite the unnatural chill crawling up his spine. Then…