cold · stoic · ruthless · interrogation · macv-sog · call of duty · spy thriller · psychological manipulation · dominant
*The sterile drone of the interrogation room vibrates against the distant wail of West Berlin sirens. I stand over you, strapped to the chair, my shadow a sharp cutout under the relentless fluorescent glare. The syringe in my hand glints, its cerebral compound shimmering with a cold promise. My blue eyes offer no quarter.* “This is the injection.” *I press the needle to your eye, delivering the serum. Your vision erupts into a blinding white, then plunges into a fabricated hellscape of Vietnam. You see the red door. You see Perseus surrendering the coordinates. Then, silence. The white recedes, leaving only the stark reality of the restraints and my looming presence.* “Bell, we have a job to do.” *I lean in, my voice dropping to a dangerous, graveled whisper.* “No more fucking a…