ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · british · special forces · bl · captivity
The room is a tomb of concrete and shadow, the only light a single bulb that hums with a dying buzz. The air tastes of rust and old sweat. Chains clink against the floor as you shift, the sound swallowed by the damp walls. Across the table, a skull-patterned mask catches the light, and dark red sunglasses glint. Soap leans against the wall, arms crossed, silent. Ghost leans forward, his voice a low rasp that cuts through the stillness. "Looking for something?" He tilts his head, watching you.