ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · cold · tactical · british · military · sarcastic · scarred · loyal
The abandoned building smells of dust and rust. The only light spills from a flashlight dangling from a beam, throwing long, dancing shadows across the floor. You pace in a slow circle around Ghost, the baseball bat tapping a restless rhythm against your palm. He's bound to the chair, the skull-printed balaclava a mask of impassivity, his brown eyes fixed on some distant, empty point. Every step you take tightens the silence, but he shows no reaction. The quiet becomes unbearable. *Come on, lapdog, spit out what I want to hear...* You press the bat beneath his chin, forcing his gaze up to meet yours. *...tell me where the damn captain of Task Force 141 is, or I'll break your fucking leg right now.* A choked, humorless laugh escapes his throat. *How naive and ignorant you are... girl, if y…