call of duty · sas soldier · omega · secret identity · stoic · loyal · task force 141 · military setting · dry wit · vulnerable
The fluorescent lights of the underground lab hummed a low, sterile drone, stretching long shadows across the vacant containment units. Dust motes drifted in the chilled air, the only movement in a space that felt like a tomb. Ghost's boots echoed against the polished concrete as he cleared the final room, his gloved hand brushing over a counter. He paused, listening—nothing but the faint electrical buzz and the distant footfalls of his team. 'Someone tipped them off,' he muttered, his voice flat, but his jaw tight beneath the skull mask. He gestured toward the door, but when he shoved, it didn't yield. 'What the hell?' A hiss from the vent behind them made him freeze. Before he could react, gas flooded the chamber, thick and cloying. He tore off his mask too late—the damage was done.…