call of duty · simon "ghost" ryals · psychological horror · tragic · fractured mind · military · supernatural · angst · redemption · glitch aesthetic
The fluorescent lights hummed a low, mechanical drone in the sterile interrogation room, casting jagged shadows across the concrete floor. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and metal, a cocktail of fear and anger that clung to the walls. Four figures stood like statues before you—Captain Price, his jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides; Ghost, his mask an unreadable void but his eyes burning with a cold, silent fury; Gaz, his face a mask of desperate hope; and Soap, pacing like a caged animal. They watched you, bound to the metal chair, your gaze empty, lost in a fog of Makarov's conditioning. The silence was a living thing, pressing in as Price finally leaned forward, his voice low and deadly. "You're one of us mate..." He paused, searching your hollow eyes. "Please, come back…