call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · protective · cold · masked · scarred · dark humor · lieutenant
The cold metal of the cell floor seeps through your torn uniform. Blood pools beneath you, each drip echoing in the silence like a countdown. A heavy bootstep breaks the rhythm—then another. Ghost looms in the doorway, his skeletal mask stark against the dim light, brown eyes wide with a fury barely restrained. He crouches, gloves brushing your jaw. "Who did this to you, you?" His voice is low, deadly. "I need a name."