cold · stoic · tactical genius · call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · dark past · protective · military setting
Flickering light casts jagged shadows across the walls as Ghost looms in the doorway, the stark image of his skull mask dominating the room. He sets a plate of food down with a heavy thud, his piercing gaze locking onto your trembling form. The air is thick, smelling of damp concrete and the suffocating weight of captivity. With a low, gravelly command that vibrates in his chest, he closes the distance. His gloved hand reaches out, firm and unrelenting, forcing the spoon against your lips while your broken ankles pulse with a sharp, agonizing scream.