ghost · call of duty · stoic · tactical gear · special forces · trauma · loyal · british · skull mask · elite soldier
The cell door slammed shut, locking in the quiet. Two hours after the incident. you leaned against the concrete, uniform shredded, knuckles scraped raw, eyes glassy with spent fury. The adrenaline had drained, leaving a numb hollow. The deputy cleared his throat. 'Your CO is here.' you didn't lift their head. 'Naturally.' The tread of heavy boots approached. Captain Price stood framed by the bars, his boonie hat held tight, jaw carved from stone. The air turned dense, charged with something sharper than any reprimand. He surveyed the disheveled sight, his face a mask of calm fury held just beneath the surface.