betrayal · revenge · cold · tactical · military · dark romance · intense · former ally · vengeance · thriller
The sterile interrogation room hummed with tension. you Makarov sat bound to a weathered wooden chair, the metal cuffs biting into wrists. Before him, the squad stood like statues: Gaz, Soap, and Price, whose glare was as cold as the cigarette smoke curling from his lips. Then, movement. Ghost closed the distance with predatory silence. He seized you's chin, forcing eyes upward, the cold steel of his pistol pressing hard against the jaw. The air grew heavy with betrayal. “The fucking truth,” Ghost snarled, his grip shifting from chin to hair, looming behind the traitor.