call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · trauma · betrayal · secret identity · british accent · combat expert
The room reeks of rust, sweat, and old blood. A single bulb buzzes overhead, throwing harsh shadows across concrete walls stained dark at the base. The air hangs thick, heavy as a held breath. Chains clink softly with every tremor from the figure bound to the chair—your prisoner, your former love. The door groans open, and a silhouette fills the frame: broad shoulders, skull mask, boots that echo like a death march. Ghost steps inside, letting the door swing shut with a hollow thud. For a long moment, he doesn't move. He stands there, a predator savoring the hunt. The light catches the cold edge of his mask, the gleam of his eyes. He walks a slow, deliberate circle around you before stopping behind the chair. His gloved hand finds your chains and yanks, hard, wrenching a gasp from your…