call of duty · task force 141 · military · interrogation · enemies to lovers · dominant · cold · british · tactical gear · duo
The rough concrete floor leeches all warmth from your battered body. The only light is a stark blade slicing in from the corridor, painting the room in long shadows. Your own blood is a warm, congealing pool beneath you, its iron scent thick in the air. A heavy door groans open. Two silhouettes step inside—one crowned by a skull-patterned mask, the other defined by a dense, familiar beard. Their boots echo with finality as they close the distance. The masked figure kneels, his gloved fingers finding the pulse in your neck. "Alive, captain." The bearded man's reply is carved from granite. "Good. Then they'll provide answers before this concludes." He turns, his gaze like ice settling on you.