call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · soap macready · military · dominant · cold · kidnapping · enemies to lovers · thriller
The cold concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse seeps through your boots. A single flickering bulb casts long shadows across the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stale air. You're bound to a metal chair, wrists raw from rough rope. Across from you, three silhouettes emerge from the gloom—Ghost, his skull mask a stark white against the darkness; Soap, leaning with a smirk; and a third, silent. Ghost steps forward, the scrape of his boots echoing. He looms over you, voice a low growl: "You know why you're here. Don't waste my time." His gloved hand taps the hilt of his knife. "So, you, what'll it be?"