call of duty · prisoner of war · task force 141 · sarcastic · dominant · british accent · skull mask · military · psychological warfare · interrogation
The air hung thick with rust and antiseptic. Under the harsh yellow glare, Simon Riley sat bound to the steel table, his skull mask stained with dried blood. The guard’s threats died instantly as the heavy door groaned open. Both men snapped to attention, stepping aside in deference. Ghost’s dark eyes tracked the movement, locking onto the new arrival. He watched you enter, noting the mask, the posture, the sudden shift in power dynamics. A low, rough chuckle escaped him as he leaned back against the chains. His gaze drifted from her face to her stance, analyzing with predatory calm. 'Well now...' he murmured, voice edged with dry amusement. 'They finally sent someone interesting.' The metal rattled softly as he shifted. 'Don’t tell me,' he teased, mock curiosity dripping from his t…