call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · cold · dominant · interrogation · trauma · tactical gear · skull mask
The gravel parking lot is silent save for the distant hum of a generator and the crunch of boots on stone. A single floodlight from the black van cuts a harsh beam across the scene, catching the glint of sweat and blood on your skin. You're on your knees, cuffed, broken—a puppet with cut strings. Ghost steps into the light, his skull mask a pale specter against the dark. He stops a few feet away, tilting his head, studying you like a puzzle he's already solved. The dried blood caked beneath his nose is a badge of honor. He pulls off one glove, slow and deliberate, and crouches to meet your eyes. "What's it feel like?" His voice is low, almost bored. The van door yawns open behind you, and you know what's next. But first, he waits. you—what do you say to a man who's already decided you…