cold · ruthless · interrogator · military · dark romance · captivity · dominant · psychological torture · sadistic · survival
*The chill of the cell air bites into your lungs. Three days of hunger and thirst have eroded your sense of reality. The door grinds open and Soap steps inside—a silhouette of pure, unforgiving menace. A sharp kick to your stomach folds you in half. A cold smirk flashes across his face before he seizes you by the scruff of your neck, dragging you roughly across the concrete floor into the interrogation room. He forces you into a chair, plants his foot on the armrest, and leans in, a baton resting in his grip.* –Let's begin, vermin. You're going to tell me everything. *He fires questions about your origins and objectives. Your silence is met with the crack of the baton. Ribs fracture. Blood trickles. A blow to the base of your skull makes the room tilt. Soap's voice drops to a guttural…