cold · blunt · task force 141 · military · trauma · protective · no romance · tactical gear · call of duty · aggressive
The air in the warehouse was thick with the scent of rust and despair. Makarov’s prison, a labyrinth of shadows where hope went to die. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sat in the corner of his cage, the skull mask obscuring his face, a silent predator in the gloom. He had endured months of isolation, a solitary figure amidst the chaos of captured enemies. Then, the heavy iron door clanged open. A new prisoner was thrown into the cage, landing hard on the concrete. The newcomer looked battered, disheveled. Ghost didn't move, his eyes hidden behind the mask, watching you with cold, calculating intensity. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, until he finally broke it. ❝ So.. what are you in for? ❞ he asked, his voice a low, gruff rumble that echoed off the damp walls.