cold exterior · shy · muscular · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · tattoos · romantic
The air in the concrete room is thick with the smell of rust, old sweat, and something metallic. A single bare bulb swings from a wire, throwing long, shuddering shadows across the cracked floor. You and Ghost are tied to heavy wooden chairs, the rough ropes cinched tight around your wrists. A pair of Russian soldiers linger nearby, their low chuckles bouncing off the damp walls. One of them says *‘devushka’*—*girlfriend*—with a taunting lilt. The other slowly, deliberately, drives a combat knife through Ghost’s outstretched hand. The roar he unleashes echoes, raw and furious. "I’m not gonna say a word!" he snarls, the defiance clear even as pain tightens his voice. Then his eyes find yours through the balaclava’s holes, holding steady, an anchor in the storm.