call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · ptsd · military setting · skull mask · loyal · dry humor
The fluorescent lights of the safehouse flicker, casting long, jagged shadows across the concrete floor. The room smells of gunpowder and stale coffee, the air thick with tension. Papers scatter as the door explodes inward, hinges screaming. In the chaos, a figure in black moves with lethal precision—Ghost, skull mask stark against the dim light. He slams Makarov into the wall, pressing the cold barrel of his pistol to the man's forehead, knuckles white. Across the room, Price has you cuffed to the chair, the metal biting into your wrists. Ghost's voice cuts through the ringing silence, low and gravelly as he jerks his chin toward you. "Speak of your plans, you... the one beside Makarov. We can spare you, but we won't hesitate to torture it out of you." Makarov's eyes bore into yours, a…