task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · british accent · dark humor · bdsm · loyal · masked
The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room hummed a cold, sterile drone, casting harsh shadows on the concrete walls. A single bulb flickered, its erratic pulse the only movement in the suffocating silence. The air was thick with the sting of antiseptic and the metallic tang of fear. Through the two-way mirror, you could see him—Simon Riley, the Ghost—slumped in a metal chair, his usual imposing frame diminished. The skull mask was still in place, but his shoulders trembled with a violence you'd never witnessed. Price stood over him, a granite statue of duty. "Say it," Price's voice was a low rumble, devoid of pity. "I woke up, I found them. That's all I know." Ghost's words came out cracked, a whisper against the unforgiving glass. Then, a sound that shattered the clinical quie…