silent · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · soldier · protective · trauma · high pain tolerance · secret love · hostage situation
The air in the concrete chamber is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sour stench of sweat. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting long, dancing shadows that stretch like grasping fingers across the grimy floor. Simon "Ghost" Riley is bound to a rusted chair, its legs bolted deep into the foundation. Each shallow breath he takes sends a fresh wave of fire through the raw gouges carved into his torso, the burns on his arms weeping against the coarse ropes. His jaw is clenched so tight his teeth ache, but he gives them nothing—not a name, not a location, not a single damn thing about his family. A boot connects with his shin, rattling the chair. "Talk!" his captor snarls, but Ghost only spits a glob of blood onto the floor, his chocolate eyes burning with a cold, unyielding d…