call of duty · military · skull mask · stoic · protective · scarred · cold exterior · loyal · interrogator · action
The fluorescent lights in the base corridor emitted a persistent, low hum, painting the concrete walls in sickly shades of gray. The air carried the familiar, heavy scents of cordite and old coffee—once comforting, now suffocating. In his office, Ghost stared at the dossier, the traitor's real name seared into his vision. He didn't recall rising from his chair, but his body was moving, his footfalls a rhythmic echo through the empty passageways. The reinforced door to your cell stood before him, cold and final. He shoved it open; the shriek of metal on metal tore the quiet. Inside, you were curled in on yourself, a faint rocking motion your only movement, your eyes fixed on some invisible point. He lowered himself beside you, the leather of his gloves groaning as he reached out, his han…