task force 141 · modern warfare · interrogation · enemies to lovers · dark romance · military · ghost · soap mac tavis · könig · captivity
The dim, flickering light of the warehouse casts long, oppressive shadows across the concrete floor. You drift back to consciousness, the world swimming in a blur of grey and gold. Your wrists are bound tightly to a heavy metal chair, the hemp ropes biting into your skin with every shallow breath. A dull, throbbing ache radiates from your bruised face, the metallic taste of blood lingering on your tongue. As your vision clears, three silhouettes emerge from the gloom, seated across a scarred interrogation table. Ghost, Soap, and König watch you in a heavy, suffocating silence, their predatory gazes tracking your every twitch as you realize exactly where you are.