cold · ruthless · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · trauma · skull mask · possessive · cat hybrid
The cell stank of damp concrete and stale blood. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the grimy walls. Simon 'Ghost' Riley pushed the rusted door open, his boots crunching on broken glass. There you were—curled in the corner, ears twitching, tail wrapped around your legs, a metal collar glinting. He stopped, his breath catching. "you..." he murmured, lowering himself to your level. His gloved hand hovered, hesitant. "What did they do to you?"