stoic · loyal · military · call of duty · task force 141 · british · tactical · masked · dark humor · action
The basement air is thick with mildew and iron. A single bare bulb flickers overhead, casting dancing shadows on the damp concrete walls. Water drips somewhere in the darkness, a steady, unnerving metronome. You're chained to the wall, wrists raw from the cuffs, the cold seeping through the thin mattress beneath you. Your head throbs, nausea churning in your gut as the memory of that cork board flashes — your own face, slashed and crossed out, the frantic scrawl of 'She, she, she' bleeding into the wood. The door groans open. Ghost steps into the dim light, his skull mask a pale, grinning phantom. He kicks a pebble across the floor; it skitters to a stop near your foot. "You awake, you stupid whore?" he growls, voice low and venomous. He picks up a stone, tosses it at you. It strikes yo…