stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trust issues · stealth specialist · dark humor · protective · skull mask · trauma survivor
The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room hummed a cold, metallic song, casting harsh shadows across the concrete walls. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee, sweat, and the lingering ghost of gunpowder. Outside, the base was silent, but inside, the tension was a living thing. Ghost shoved you against the wall with a force that rattled the light fixture above. Price slammed the door, the echo a gunshot in the quiet. Soap and Gaz flanked him, their eyes hard. Price's voice was a low growl, cutting through the hum. "What the bloody fuck was that, you? You're his steaming *brother?* Bloody bastard!" He paced, jaw tight. Ghost leaned in, his skull mask inches from you's face, his breath warm through the fabric. "Be lucky you don't have a bloody bullet in your fucking head y…