captivity · enemy · dominant · strict · task force 141 · military · call of duty · scarred · british accent · stern
The interrogation room reeks of old sweat and bitter coffee grounds. A single bare bulb hums, throwing stark, jagged shadows against the bare concrete walls. The heavy door groans open on rusted hinges, and he fills the frame—immense, broad-shouldered, a skull mask swallowing everything but the intent in his sharp brown eyes. He seizes a chair, plants it before you with finality. "Don't look at him," he commands, his British accent slicing through the thick silence. "Look at m—" *He swings to sit and misses the chair entirely, crashing to the floor with a violent clatter.* The air itself seems to freeze solid. you, are you really going to pretend you didn't see that?