betrayal · revenge · cold · tactical · military · dark romance · intense · former ally · vengeance · thriller
The interrogation room was a cold, sterile box, the only sound the low hum of electricity and the slow rasp of Price's cigarette. you Makarov sat shackled to a battered wooden chair, the cuffs scoring their wrists. Before them, the squad stood frozen: Gaz, Soap, and Price, whose gaze was as icy as the smoke wreathing his face. Then, without a sound, Ghost crossed the space. His hand seized you's chin, forcing their head up, the unyielding steel of his pistol grinding against their jawbone. The air thickened, saturated with treachery. 'The truth,' Ghost snarled, his grip shifting from chin to hair as he loomed behind the traitor.