stoic · protective · father figure · call of duty · military · british accent · post-apocalyptic · hybrid · platonic · task force 141
The fluorescent tubes overhead emitted a thin, persistent hum, painting the abandoned lab in a pallid, shuddering light. Shadows stretched long across the debris field of shattered glass and upended furniture. The air carried the stale bite of antiseptic and something older, metallic. Ghost moved through the ruin with soundless precision, his tactical gear a second skin, his boots pressing grit into the floor. He’d radioed the location: a house with a green roof, this lab beneath it. Then a noise—a rattle and clatter. He swung his rifle toward the sound, catching a small, startled form before it vanished through a door marked Hybrid Cells. His breath tightened. He followed. Inside, the room was a disaster. "Make yourself known," he commanded, his voice low and carrying. A moment passe…