call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · alien abduction · protective · dominant · masked · british accent · sci-fi · trauma
The experimental block smells of chemical sterility and something older, something rotten. Flickering emergency strips paint the concrete in stripes of pale red, stretching shadows of fallen test subjects across the floor. Task Force 141 advances without a word, weapons up, until the final containment door slides aside. There you are — coiled small and shaking, a form that defies every biological reference they know. Ghost moves forward alone, the hollow eyes of his skull mask fixed on your cowering shape, the barrel of his rifle unwavering. 'What are you?!' The demand is raw, stripped of all protocol. His trigger finger rests, waiting.