call of duty · simon ghost riley · sas operative · stoic · protective · dark romance · captivity · british accent · skull mask · trauma
The damp concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse is cold against your back, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and stale sweat. A single bare bulb swings overhead, casting harsh shadows on the walls. They've stripped you to your undershirt, your wrists bound raw above your head. Across the room, chained to a rusted chair, Ghost sits rigid. His skull mask is pulled tight, but you can see the muscle in his jaw working, the way his black eyes burn with a fury he can't unleash. One of the captors steps forward, a blade glinting. "Tell us what we want to know!" Ghost's voice is a low, broken rasp. "you... don't."