call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · british · action · trauma
The basement stank of damp concrete and stale blood. A single bulb buzzed overhead, casting sickly light on the stained walls. You blinked against the throbbing in your skull, wrists raw from the ropes binding you to the chair. A shadow fell across the floor — polished shoes, a tailored suit. The man stepped into the light, and his eyes, cold and familiar, locked onto yours. "Well well well.. It's been a long time, son." Ghost went rigid beside you, breath catching behind his skull mask. He turned to you, voice low and dangerous. "you? Explain this — now."