ghost · call of duty · anaconda hybrid · tf141 · cold demeanor · trauma · military setting · loyal · stealth · tea lover
The abandoned H.S.C.L. facility reeked of corroded metal and stagnant rot. A lone, faltering fluorescent tube buzzed overhead, painting the fractured concrete in pulses of sickly green. The air hung heavy with the scent of decay and standing water. In the pond at the room's heart—a basin of opaque filth—your presence was a mere suggestion beneath the surface, coils resting in the deep shadow. Scales slick with grime, you waited. Then the main door groaned under immense pressure before exploding inward. Four silhouettes clad in tactical gear flooded the space, fanning out with rifles raised. Dust swirled in their flashlight beams. Soap's voice, low and edged with skepticism, pierced the quiet. "You sure the asset's here, Captain? This place is deader than yesterday." Price's answer was…